Romance Wasn't Built in a Day
by Phishouttawatta
Summary: Helga is to Arnold as Gertrude is to Phil, which gives some positive projections for Helga and Arnold, but it also forecasts some sturm and drang. Not everything was sunshine and moonbeams from Gerti and Phil, either. A look into the past may help Arnold and Helga realize their feelings.
1. 24 h 15 m 13 s until you die!

**Yay! So just what I need: another story among all of my other unfinished stories. But, I have been regularly updating them (sorta...half of them) so I am rewarding myself by finally posting this one that has been knocking around in my imagination. Originally was going to be only a Phil and Gertie story, but I daydreamed too much and it grew. I hope you enjoy!**

 **disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold or its characters. I am writing this story only for entertainment purposes. I make no profit from this story.**

Helga regretted rapping her knuckles on the wood of the peeling green door the second the noise sounded. She wanted to run. She wanted to run so badly, but instead, she stood awkwardly on the stoop in one of her nicer dresses, a three-quarter sleeve maroon skater dress that Olga had insisted on buying for Helga after she insisted on Helga trying it on when they had gone on a shopping trip for what Olga had insisted were things for herself, but the entire time she kept pushing things onto Helga.

"You know, for when you have a special occasion. Don't look at me like that, baby sis, I know you'll find the right time to wear it—not that you need an excuse for me to dote on you. It just looks so splendid on you with the color of your eyes and your hair," she had gushed in response when Helga had inquired as to why she would need such a piece of clothing that very second.

So here she was, wearing this dress and waiting on the stoop to pay respects to a grandfather on his deathbed who also happens to be the grandfather of the then boy now man she had loved since before she had many other memories. Said man, by the way, was the same one that she hadn't seen for over a year following an argument where she had said some terrible, defensive things and hadn't been able to bring herself to share the same space with him since. Was this special occasion enough?

Helga jumped lightly at the sound of the old wood scrubbing together as the door opened. Thankfully no cacophony of pets bounded in or out of the building and all that stood in the doorway was the tall, slim frame of the boy now man.

His green eyes were rimmed lightly pink with bags beneath, like he had been awake all night or crying. 'Maybe both.' She squirmed self consciously under his surprised gaze, which was owlish with too much stupefied blinking in her opinion.

"Helga," he said with an astonished breath. God, how she had missed that warm, resonant tone of his voice that washed over her like afternoon sunshine. Her eyes drank in his face in. A year had gone by, and his hair didn't even look different. Helga felt relieved. For some reason she was afraid he would have went and gone through huge life changes and she would have missed them because she was too proud and too embarrassed to face him.

Helga caught herself rubbing her own arm in a habit that always clearly showed her discomfort and immediately shoved both of her hands behind her back. She had meant to clasp them together to keep herself from fidgeting, but ended up twiddling her fingers.

Noting that the awkward silence had now drawn on because of her, she cleared her throat and called out to him, "Hey, Arnold."

Arnold stood there for a beat longer, hand still on the knob as if he didn't know how to process her presence, but seemed to quickly remember himself and stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in."

"Thank you," Helga murmured as she moved passed him into the foyer. She turned to look over her shoulder at him as he closed the door behind them, locking out the autumn chill. "How is he?"

His face shifted from polite to melancholic in an instant, and Helga swore she could feel physical pain in her heart to see him like this. She wanted to cross the space between them and take his hand-no, take him in her arms, hold him, but instead she stayed glued to her spot waiting for his answer.

"Oh, uh, he's...not doing so great. He's been in bed for a few days, really weak, hardly eating." Helga pressed her lips together and nodded with an awkward head bobbing motion that looked slightly like a chicken. "And your gramma?"

He smiled a bitter smile. Helga's heart wailed, ' _Arnold smiled bitterly.'_ "She hasn't left his side, of course. Actually, I was coming down to fix some food for us, see if they'll eat. Would, uh..."

He looked slightly uncomfortable and Helga waited patiently for him to finish.

"Would you…mind going up and sitting with them?" Helga couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at the request. She had gotten so much better at not bottling up or disguising her true emotions that sometimes it was hard to control them again. Dr. Bliss was much more satisfied with heart on sleeve Helga, and honestly so was Helga.

She hadn't realized how exhausting it was to disguise most of her positive feelings. She also hadn't realized that most of the things she enjoyed back then—monster truck rallies, WrestleMania—where people were being outwardly aggressive made her feel somewhat normal and laughing at Rats with Bob hadn't really been them bonding, it had been her scorning the healthy release and recognition of emotions, because outwardly expressing her real feelings made her feel vulnerable and weak.

In contrast, her writing she also enjoyed as a child, but with such a different connection that any match where muscled doofs beat the snot out of each other. Her writing had conveyed her most (special- Mr. Simmons) sensitive self. All of Helga's raw passion she had vomited onto so many pages over the years and it took her quite some time to come to the conclusion that she was hiding not only her feelings for Arnold, but also everything else, even from her best friend, Phoebe. All of her was written on those pages, a lot of hurt (neglectful parents, taunting classmates), a lot of longing (a better relationship with her sister, a more equal friendship with Phoebe, if not love then an _actual_ friendship with Arnold, the list went on).

Arnold took her surprise negatively and simultaneously backtracked and apologized. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. That was a weird thing for me to ask. You can wait for me to go up. Did you want anything to eat, I can make you something too?" His words were starting to jumble together, and Helga reached out to touch his arm before she had conscious recognition of her actions.

She tried to keep her voice from trembling as she quickly reassured Arnold, moving her hand from his arm to his back and rubbing in a soothing manner, "No, it's alright. I was just surprised was all, really. I will go on up."

He let out a huge sigh, and Helga watched his broad shoulders and chest relaxed as his lungs deflated as well as felt the tension leave his muscles she tried not to notice through his shirt. 'Keep it together, Pataki. Not the right time.'

Arnold nodded and started to plod down the hallway in socked feet, but turned as he remembered, "Did you want anything to eat or drink?" Helga clasped her hands in front of her and shook her head, smiling gratefully. There was no way she could consume anything, not when she felt like she was felt so nervous that she could hurl at any given moment.


	2. Oh, Molasses, it's you

The stairs creaked under Helga's feet while her eyes stared with apprehension at the gold star on the front of the door that marked Phil and Gertie's room. Her feet continued to carry her despite her unease and she was at the standing before it in no time.

It wasn't closed all of the way, just barely cracked, but she knocked anyway as she slowly opened the door.

Phil was laying in bed, eyes closed and seemingly asleep while periodically mumbling some kooky words. She wondered if Arnold sleep talked.

Gertrude on the other hand was awake, though it looked as if the aged woman had been through the ringer. When she and Arnold were younger, the woman had slouched a little (Helga would say hardly) and always made up for her age by being very spry physically and unpredictable in terms of personality. But now, Helga felt as though she was unrecognizable.

She was hunched over, her silvery hair that was normally kept in a high bun was let down and brushed the tops of her shoulders. She was so calm, so quiet, that Helga thought maybe she could have been mistaken for asleep if not for her open eyes, appearing larger on a comical scale behind the thick glass of her out-of-date eyewear, which swung Helga's direction as she stepped into the room.

To Helga's surprise, Gertie's face lit up upon her arrival and her old, quavery voice called out. "Ah, Eleanor, you made it!" Years ago Helga would have pulled a face at the nickname, but she smiled instead.

"I did," Helga confirmed. There was a chair pulled up next to her already, and Helga walked toward it. Before she could sit down, Gertrude's voice warbled, "Deary, before you get comfortable, I need you to get me something."

Helga nodded attentively.

"There is an album downstairs in the sitting room, would you mind terribly? It's in the bookshelf." Helga gave another nod as she began to turn, but paused when she heard, "..or the curio cabinet..." She started off again, only to stop in her tracks with, "or maybe on the coffee table..."

She turned around to regard the old woman who was tapping a finger on her mouth. "Don't worry, I'll find it. What color it is?"

"Green."

So Helga again descended the stairs.

Moments later, after finishing one of his grandfather's herring sandwiches (so gross, but the man loved them) and setting it on a tray to take upstairs, Arnold heard (and could have sworn he felt) a crash come from the sitting room. He also managed to hear the mostly softly-spoken curse that followed.

Upon turning the corner from the hallway to enter the room, he came upon the source of the noise. Helga was on her rump on the floor, covered with books and a little more than a few knickknacks. Her one foot was held in front of her, locked at the knee to brace the cabinet from falling on her, while her other knee were pressed to it's mate in attempt to stop her skirt from riding up more than it already had.

Their eyes met at and Helga blushed, grumbling pointedly to hide her embarrassment.

"Mind giving me a hand?"

Arnold couldn't help but smile incredulously at her predicament as he moved to lean the cabinet back into place. "Thank you," she said now that she could pull her hem back down to its proper place and dig her way out of the contents of what had been the top shelf.

"What are you doing? I thought you were going up to sit with Gramma and Grampa."

Helga looked annoyed as she ignored his proffered hand and stood up, eyeing the items with disdain. "I _was_ until you gramma asked me to get an album for her. She didn't know where it was, so I had to hunt around for it, and then turns out you people overstuffed the top cabinet to the point where this thing was top heavy, and God forbid you open the bottom drawers."

Arnold at least had the decency to look sheepish. "Yeah, sorry about that. They tend to hold onto a lot of stuff without really having a place to keep it."

Helga thought to herself this seemed very typical old person slash grandparent behavior, not that she really knew. She hadn't really met hers, with Miriam's parents disapproving of her marriage to Bob to the point where they lost touch before the couple had moved out of town (and who knows if they ever tried to track them down again). As for Bob's parents...well he never really talked about them. Helga minutely felt the loss at never being able to look through relics of her family's past. She was so unattached to them to begin with, and lacking anything more substantial than feelings with which to connect with them made her feel even more like an island.

"Which one did she tell you to get?" Arnold asked, taking a few of the books from the ground into his hands and looking between them, most likely attempting to identify them.

"She said it was green."

"Oh!" Arnold's eyes of that same color met hers as he made a realization, and Helga was less reminded of and more thrown into the disconcerting thoughtlessness that came with being caught in that gaze as her mind screeched to a halt. She blinked and looked away, though he didn't seem to notice, or at least he made no mention of it. Instead he set up the rest of the books in a nice pile near the base of the case with the thought to put them away in a less hazardous fashion later. "I actually have that up in my room. We can grab it before we head back in with grampa. Let me just grab their food."

And he was leading Helga out of the room, and she was following him through the kitchen, up the stairs, and down the hallways where he grabbed the pull-string for his flight of stairs leading to his attic room.

Helga stepped into his space, feeling both uncomfortable and surreal. How many times had she wanted to be in this room, actually _invited_ instead of after a moderate amount of B &E? It looked so similar to how she remembered that it was like stepping through a time rift to when she was nine years old. She looked down to make sure she wasn't actually wearing her old pink dress.

Nope. Burgundy.

And looking around the room, there were noticeable changes that marked that time had passed: the sound system was sleeker, consisting of one player that probably was bluetooth capable, much smaller-powerful speakers, the old desktop had been replaced by a silvery laptop, and the bed looked bigger, like maybe he had evened out the steps and added width to bed. If she looked close enough, the books on his shelves were probably a little more mature as well, not that his reading material was all that juvenile when they were kids. He was always mature for his age, sometimes more than she could stand. 'Goody, two-shoes football head.'

Arnold grabbed an album bound in green with brass spirals, which very clearly had the word "ALBUM" printed on the front and waved it to her to show her he found it. He caught her gaze wandering his room, only to retreat the minute his attention was on her.

Arnold stifled a sigh.

He hadn't expected her to show up at his door for this. It had been such a long time since either of them had even seen each other, let alone held a conversation, and he desperately wanted to apologize to her. He knew he messed up, but Helga had made it clear she hadn't wanted to communicate with him following their disagreement, and he had to respect her wishes. He just hadn't been prepared for her presence here, and he recognized this moment was not the right time to discuss their situation.

This time he did sigh, rather loudly. It would just have to wait.

"You okay?" was the tentative question he heard from Helga, who was trailing behind him in the hallway.

He nodded, and smiled softly, then lied, "Yeah, just tired."

 **oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

When they entered the room, Phil was awake and reclining on his pillows, looking rather alert for someone who was supposed to be dying Helga thought. Then again, Arnold's grandparents had always been scary sharp for people their age. Maybe it was just his natural demeanor.

"Ah, if it isn't Arnold's little friend with the one eyebrow," (Helga was actually the proud owner of two eyebrows now thanks to her two friends: wax and her aesthetician) "Haven't seen you in a while, been a long time." The lilt of his voice making this statement that would otherwise be considered observational felt a little (a lot) intentionally pointed.

Helga blushed and forced her voice to stay polite as she answered, "Yeah. I've been really busy with work." It was a lame excuse, and she felt lame making it, especially since it most definitely her work that kept her away.

Sure, it kept her busy as most adult jobs keep adults, but working as a publisher at a really nice firm had some really agreeable perks, taking her work home to the comfort of her own LoveSac for one. It was also fairly close, and being so nearby, she would _have_ to avoid Arnold to not see him.

Truth be told, she had been avoiding him for quite some time, since the wedding (though not as aggressively).

 _I was laid out on Phoebe's couch, staring at the ceiling waiting for her to say something,_ anything _. I had effectively ruined our buddy night with my news. The whole point of buddy night was_ _to make_ _time for_ _only friends_ _once a week_ _, no_ _couple stuff, at least not for Phoebe and Gerald_ _who wanted to make sure their respective friendships with their best friends didn't fall by the wayside considering their new relationship level_ _. It was_ _my and Phoebe's_ _turn to_ _hold our buddy night_ _the Johanssen-Heyerdahl_ _residence_ _while the boys went out and about, and I was going to take full advantage of an empty house to pour my heart out to my best friend and make her help me decide_ _instead of our usual movie, junk food, and wine._

" _Phoebe?" I questioned, making sure she was still with me._

 _She hesitated a while longer, and_ _finally said, "Helga, I don't know what to say."_

" _Well, say_ something _. How about, 'gee, Helga, that sure is a rough predicament. Here's my advice' would be better than silence." She didn't take my snappy tone personally, though she did look frustrated._

" _Helga, you know that this isn't a simple solution or you would have one already."_ _Silence ensued and all I could here was the faint hum of the ceiling fan as the blad_ _es whirred overhead_ _._

 _S_ _he started again, "Liver failure."_

" _Yup."_

" _And she asked you…?"_

" _Yup."_

" _What about Olga?"_

 _I sighed, giving more news, this time some that wasn't mine to give, "She's pregnant. And she can't wait. Miriam will probably croak out by then."_

 _Phoebe was initially quiet, then offered, "Congratulations."_

 _I couldn't even manage a smile, but muttered, "Thanks."_ _I felt tears nag at the back of my eyes not for the first time that day and closed my eyes_ _to fend them off_ _, letting my fingers play with the plush decorative pillow I held_ _to_ _my midsection._

" _I don't know what to do," I choked, feeling my voice crack._

" _Well, how do you feel?"_ _I chuckled humorlessly._ _That was even harder to discern, and I pressed the pillow to my face, letting my frustrated noises be muffled by the fluff and fabric._

" _Ugh, I don't_ know _."_

 _Silence stretched between us again, probably her being patient and letting me gather my thoughts while I was avoiding them._

 _I heard her shift suddenly. "I'll be right back," she said as she slid open one of the large doors that separated her living room from the sitting room on one side and the kitchen on the other._ _From beneath the pillow, I excused her with a vague hand gesture_ _as the door slid shut_ _, "Take your time."_

 _I was alone with my thoughts long enough to string some semblance_ _of a decision together by the time I heard the door open again._

 _I took a deep breath_ _and let it out in a deep resigned sigh_ _that spread_ _moist, warm air trapped by the pillow_ _across my lips and nose._

" _I don't think I can go through with it, Phoebs._ _Donate part of my liver? I don't know. It would be one thing if Miriam and I were close...well ever, but_ _we never have been._ You _know_ _how I grew up in that house_ _. Not to mention the risks of me dying on the table, which really gives me the heebs, Phoebe, it really does._ _Part of me thinks that she deserves a shot at being better, at not neglecting Olga's kid like she did me, though it's Olga's kid so it's guaranteed that she'll love that thing more than she ever did me._ _But I…." and I inhaled deeply at this, letting a sob wrack my body as the guilt swarmed through my chest and pulled at my face, "...I don't think she deserves that chance."_

 _I sniffed, feeling relieved to have been able to say that_ _(that Miriam shouldn't get to have a chance to make another kid feel unwanted and rejected_ _just for being alive_ _)_ _out loud, and Phoebe was an absolute angel for sitting and listening. After a beat, I said "Phoebe?"_ _God, had all of that been indiscernible because of the pillow? I heard a shift of weight from the squeak of the antique floor._

" _Phoebe?" I said again, louder this time and pulling the pillow away from my face to turn to look at her._

 _But instead of the_ _partially_ _(who really knows how much)_ _Japanese_ _woman I had been expecting, a blonde-haired, green-eyed man stood gaping at me._

" _Arnold?" I trilled, panicking. I sat up fully, hugging the pillow to my chest protectively, my face already burning hot._

 _I heard Phoebe's voice echo mine as she called Arnold's name in a tone that implied searching. I heard her breath, "Oh, no" as she came into view behind Arnold who_ _'s eyes still were boring into me like he was reading my soul. And wasn't he? Did he not just here me condemn my own mother?_ _There was no point in hiding anymore, but that didn't mean I wouldn't try. I immediately stood and stalked passed the two of them, breezing through the hallway to get to the door as quickly as I could. As I shoved my feet into my_ _boots_ _, gnashing my teeth as my shoe folded in on itself at my Achille's, forcing me to try to rearrange it for much longer than I wanted_ _before I could even consider lacing them._ _I heard Phoebe_ _scold Arnold accusingly, "I said she was in there, I didn't invite you to go see her!"_

" _I just wanted to say hi," he explained in a mystified voice._

 _I heard Phoebe growl at him, "It's buddy night!" I would have to hug her later for that. Gerald at some point had entered the room and asked cautiously, "What's going on?"_

 _Phoebe immediately rounded on her husband, momentarily ignoring Arnold, "What's happening,_ indeed _, Mr. Johan_ _s_ _sen."_ _As they began their own row, I heard Arnold's long strides follow me to the door, and I was out in the chill before I could see him round the corner._

 _He called out to me, but I ignored him, thrusting my arms into my coat as I walked and ducking my head into my high collar to protect my ears and cheeks. "Helga, wait! Please?"_

 _I kept walking,_ _yelling at him to back off,_ _and this time, his voice was more forceful as he called my name, and the sheer commanding masculinity had me frozen in my tracks._ _I heard him sigh in relief as I trembled in my spot, ashamed and embarrassed._

 _I turned to him_ _emotionally_ _terrified, and he loped up to me, his breath turning to vapor in the cold air. "_ _Can we talk about this, Helga?"_

 _I shook my head. He looked vexed, but offered hastily, "At least let me drive you home."_

" _No." Arnold physically reeled at my blunt answer._

" _Why not?" he demanded, his eyebrows drawing together in evident show of frustration._

 _I flapped an arm at him._ _"Because I can't have you looking at me like that."_

 _He looked incredulous, and angry at such a (what he probably thought was) ridiculous answer. "_ _Like_ what _?"_ _I shot him an accusing look, "Like you pity me!"_

" _Oh come on, Helga. Don't be like that. I don't_ pity _you."_

" _You do!" I argued, pointing rudely at his face. "I can see it." He seemed fed up and nodded, owning up to his feelings._

" _Okay_ _, now that you bring it up, yeah, I think it's pretty sad." I bristled, not liking the way that sounded at all._

" _What?" I snapped._

" _That you won't save your own mother's life because you feel like your relationship wasn't perfect. I thought you were a better person than that."_

 _I took a step back, feeling like I had taken a physical blow. Tears_ did _spring from my eyes unbidden, and he_ _calmly_ _held his gaze to mine, unfazed by my crying._

" _Do you realize how lucky you are? You still have parents. Sure your relationship with them isn't perfect, but no one's is. And you'll let her die, you'll decide whether you think she_ deserves _a second chance because you-"_

" _Shut up!" I roared, breathing hard and ragged, watching my own breath leave me like smoke from a dragon. I advanced on him, but he stood his ground. He was a good head taller than I was, but that didn't intimidate me. Size never did. I often picked on_ _others_ _bigger than myself, usually boys, when I was a kid._

" _You have no idea," I hissed, "what you're talking about." My voice grew louder_ _to the point where I was shouting again_ _, "You think I don't feel bad? That this decision isn't killing me? That I_ _actually_ _feel bad for doubting whether or not I want to risk my life for a person that sent me, a_ four year old child _to walk to school alone, in the pouring rain, only to be attacked by a_ _stray_ _dog who thankfully only took my food._ _The same person who packed my lunch consisting of moist towelettes, crackers, and a can of shaving cream._ _The same person that sent me to walk to school when it was below freezing without a coat because she had dr_ _a_ _nk herself so far into a stupor every day that she didn't_ remember _that I would need something to keep warm_ _in the snow_ _when I was nine._ _The same person who let her happiness determine how good of a parent she was. Who acted like I wasn't even there, or wanted, or_ loved _!" I stopped to catch my breath, feeling the tear tracks on my face chill with the wind._ _I couldn't help the shuddering breaths that left my lips as I tried to control my crying while I stared hard at Arnold, daring him to judge me, daring him to reject (though he probably already had)._

" _Helga-" he started, but I wasn't finished._

" _No! No! You don't get to decide how my relationship with my parents should be just because you don't have any!"_

 _And I turned on my heal and stormed away, more than happy to let my anger burn off on my walk home._

 **hohohoho inteeeeensssse. I already am in love with this story that I'm writing, are you? Is that tooting my own horn? If you're waiting for more on Phil and Gertie's past, I promise we will get to it soon, the next chapter actually. And throughout the whole story. It'll be fun!**

 **Thank you to my reviewer and to all future reviewers, as well as to those who follow and favorite! Hope you did and continue to enjoy!**


	3. I Saw Your Face, and Wow!

Helga felt a renewed wave of guilt at the memory and glanced at Arnold, who—to her surprise—had a faint blush of his own on his face.

"Well, it's not just Helga's fault. I've been really busy, too." Helga tried her best not to gape at him, but wondered, 'Is Arnold taking blame for that fight?'

The blonde girl didn't have much time to dwell on it though, as Gertrude accepted the album from Arnold. She thumbed through the pages until her bony digit found what she was looking for. She cooed at the picture.

"Aw, what an adorable little girl I was," she warbled and Phil crossed his arms across his body. His eyes narrowed as he added, "And a pain in my patooty."

Arnold raised his eyebrows, "You two have known each other since you were little?" Grandma didn't answer, but instead crooned over Phil's chin in his elementary school picture while Grandpa grumbled, "Yeah we went to school together. I thought you knew this."

Arnold shook his head with a dazed look on his face.

Phil gave him the lazy eye and questioned dubiously, "Are you sure? I could have sworn I told you all about it when you were having your-"

(Helga didn't miss the sidelong glance in her direction.

"-girl trouble. You came home that day with feathers glued to your heiny."

Grandma's attention returned to the conversation at this point.

"Feathers?"

Phil nodded for firmly now eyes still on his grandson as he waggled a finger in recollection, "Yeah it's all coming back to me. The next day you came home with paint all over you."

"That's because you told me to follow my instincts," Arnold soughed with a wooden expression and crossed arms.

"Well paint isn't that bad," Gertie mused in the background. "I remember doing much worse to you."

Helga's eyebrows raised. "You used to pick on Phil?"

Gertrude sat back in the chair and allowed the album to rest open in her lap looking wistful.

"Oh yes. But, oh, that was so many years ago."

" _Now everyone give Gertrude a nice warm welcome." Silence filled the room as little Gertie walked down the aisle to my desk. It felt like a mile, no..._ two _miles. It took forever to get there. She kept her eyes on the floor; she was so close to crying. She didn't want to be here. How often had she changed schools since her dad left? Five or six times? When was it going to be over?_

 _She sat down in her desk, kept her eyes on the worn wood that had seen every school level in the little one-room._

 _'When will I finally have friends?' she thought as the silence of the room was broken by some chatter only to be quashed by their teacher, Mrs. Crenshaw-a tall woman with taller hair and sharp rectangular spectacles-who instructed them to take out their books to do some follow along reading._

 _She realized she had no book, and as tears started burning the back of her eyes, she kept them downturned to the desk. Of course her mom hadn't bought her books yet, and she loved reading. This was just like every other school she started at. Next she would be made fun of, for her mom, for her lack of books, her lack of a father…_

" _Wanna share?" Her brown eyes swimming with soon to be shed tears darted up to meet the green sitting in front of her. The first time she ever saw him. The boy who sat in front of her, hair the color of dark stained wood and with a chin_ "-that rivaled Kirk Douglas." Arnold and Helga glanced at each other, giving the barest of shrugs.

 _He had placed his book on her desk and turned sideways in his chair. Gertrude could only nod as she observed his sincere, friendly smile. She sniffed and smiled back as the teacher began reading. He politely placed his finger on the page under the words to make it easier to follow. When there was a small pause when one of the older kids got called on to read, he whispered to her._

" _I'm Phillip Shortman."_

 _Already smitten with this boy she had shared a book with for ten minutes, Gertie blushed, and replied. "I'm Gertrude-"_

" _Is there something you two would like to share with the class?" Mrs. Crenshaw's voice called from the front of the room. Gertie felt her blush deepen as every pair of eyes in the classroom focused on her and Phil, who had answered, "No ma'am. That was my fault."_

 _Her breath left her in a whoosh. He took blame, risked getting in trouble? When Phil looked back at her, he made a cringing smile that clearly said 'oops', and Gertrude found herself mirroring him again until she heard it. She knew it anywhere. The snickers._

 _Gertrude's chocolate eyes scanned the room and she saw them. They were older than her and mocking the way she smiled at him, batting their lashes and clasping their hands next to their cheeks._

 _She hadn't mooned_ that hard.

 _The younger girl's mood and expression soured, and she could hardly pay attention to the reading anymore._

 _Lunch was an affair. The older girls found Gertrude on the playground and stood cornering her in the shade of a giant oak. From far away it looked like a pleasant enough conversation unless you paid attention to the little details: hips jutting out and looming height contrasting shoulders rounded forward and shrinking posture. Looking just passed Dorothy's elbow, Gertrude locked eyes with Phil who waved upon noticing her._

 _Of course her gaze hadn't been missed by Mary, who nudged Dorothy and Helen. They watched with smirks as Phil approached looking comfortable and confident while Gertie oozed unease. He smiled at the older girls, but looked directly at Gertrude, "We need another kid for stickball. How are you at catching?"_

 _Gertie stood rooted to the spot. Unconsciously her eyes moved to the three older girls, who pounced on the opening her pause had created. One placed her hand on Gertie's shoulder. It was gentle, but it was a power move and Gertie could feel it. "Actually, Philly, we were just getting to know our new classmate, you know girl stuff. Why don't you run along."_

 _Gertrude could have sworn she saw a tick form in Philip's jaw, especially when followed up by, "Oh, come on. She seems like she would rather be playing stick ball with us than jabber about girly stuff. Come on, Gertie, you can play on my team."_

" _Is that so? Well let's see what_ Gertie _has to say about that," Helen said, flipping her stylishly cropped hair away from her eyes with a swing of her chin._

 _Suddenly all eyes were on her, expectant, judgmental, mocking. If she couldn't be liked then at least she could be invisible, but she was all to conspicuous now, and_ on her first day! _She couldn't take the pressure!_

 _She had lived in New York before this, had heard the tough way kids had talked. She just had to act like that and maybe it would go away. She loved pretending, dressing up and being someone else for a little while. Okay, channel the character…Graham. He was always what her mother's last manfriend called "precocious." Gertrude would call him a jerk. Rough, brutish, and ready for a fight. Gertie narrowed her eyes to seal the deal, really feel like the bully she was emulating. She tugged her shoulder and chest forward roughly, earning a surprised look from all as Mary's hand was brushed away._

 _Gertie gave a wicked smile that didn't have to be faked. 'It's working!' With a casual air, she increased the volume of her voice and made it sound as graceless as possible._

" _Nah, I think I'll go play some stick ball. Anything to get away from you hens." Oh, if her mother could hear her now. She suspected her mom would be conflicted. Half proud that she was standing up for herself ("No one likes a doormat dear") and half appalled ("A lady doesn't speak so! If you insult someone, do so gracefully")._

 _Gertie couldn't tell if she liked the triumphant smile that also graced Phil's face, but when he went to put his arm around her shoulder, she deftly shrugged away (having done it many a time with her mother's suitors) and shot him a sneer. "Who said you could touch me," her eyes flew around his face, trying to pick out something to make fun of him for, but by God, her love had blossomed in such a few short hours that she loved everything about his face, especially his strong, cleft- "Chin Boy?"_

 _He looked stunned and apologized, which she ignored as she sidled up to home plate and donned the catching glove and mask. She squatted into position, not caring about how the position effected the skirt of her dress._

 _Thankfully after lunch, the subject they studied was math, which Gertie had always enjoyed and could follow easily...which was probably a good thing considering the brush off she gave to Phil at lunch. The blonde girl labored under the assumption that he would not be so congenial to share his textbook with her. Though she was surprised when he turned with book hand, mouth agape as if he was trying to say something._

 _Oh, no. He was going to try to offer to share again. Bless him and his generosity, but she could feel the eyes burning into the back of her head, watching for the next interaction between them. Better keep up the charade a bit longer._

" _What?" she snapped in a whisper. A flush colored Phillip's face and he muttered "Nothing" as he turned back to face forward. Gertie snickered to herself, pleased that she was being somewhat convincing. She heard giggles coming from the older girls who sat near the back, and turned to shoot them a poisonous glare. The only person who laughed at Phil was her._

 **Thanks to those who read, review, follow, etc :) I appreciate that you enjoy the fruits of my rampant daydreaming! Christmas is coming soon, and hopefully I can get another chapter in for you guys :D**


	4. Not Since November 17, 1927

_He was behind her. She could hear the scuffing of his shoes against the packed dirt that lead away from the schoolhouse. When she turned onto the main road, so did he. It went like that for a quarter of a mile before she snapped and turned on him._

" _Quit followin' me!"_

 _Phil glared at Gertrude and said defensively, "I'm not. This is the way I live. We must live in the same direction." They glared at each other until Gertrude scoffed and looked away._

" _I can't stand the noise your shoes make when you walk behind me."_

" _Well then, how about I just walk with you?" Phil asked slowly._

 _Gertrude immediately bristled at the idea, "You're_ not _walking me home." There was no way she wouldn't get tormented if the other kids found out._

" _I'm not," Phil placated. "We're just walking in the same direction, side by side." And with a teasing smile he added, "I won't even ask to carry your books even though I know you want me to."_

 _Gertie felt the heat rise in her face and averted her eyes. She snorted in an unladylike fashion, "Whatever floats your boat, wise guy."_

 _And so they walked in silence, Gertrude trying desperately not to look at him and Phillip searching for anything he could say, but such was that neither of them could, so silence was the third companion until Gertrude reached her gate. It had once been an attractive white picket, now with flaky paint and missing posts that were replaced with pits of wire, thankfully not barbed._

 _Gertrude didn't wave to the dark-haired boy that had walked her home, but instead had hunched her shoulders against the embarrassment of the small house that could be seen from the street. Thankfully it was commonplace for there to be such small houses at this far edge of the main bustling city—which still had dirt roads on the main drags, but had stories higher than five stories—but she was sure Phillip with his nicely pressed school clothes lived in a much nicer home._

 _She came through the door, calling out her arrival and her mother who had been lounging with a magazine and a cigarette on the couch threw down her reading material and sashayed over to her daughter._

" _Oh my darling girl!" she cried out, kissing her cheek and Gertrude didn't hide the smile at her mother's show of affection. "How was your first day?"_

 _Her mother, a blonde woman of exceptional beauty, with a fashionable svelte figure and sense of style (but horrid luck with men) took her bag from her shoulder and lead her into the "parlor". (Gertie knew this was supposed to be a dining room, but her mother was always so good at rearranging homes to suit her needs. And now, parlors were very in)._

" _It was fine," Gertrude said noncommittally as her mother gently pulled her pigtails out of their ties. She had offered Gertie to have her hair sheered so that she may look fashionable like magazine models that the young girl enjoyed impersonating when she played dress up, but Gertrude was too nervous (and now didn't want to be anything like the girls at school) to sheer the hair that she had faithfully grew to past her shoulders._

 _Her mother gently pressed her with the palm of her hand until Gertie laid her head in her lap, not that she needed much leading—she_ adored _having her hair played with. Dressed in an elegant gown of gossamer white and pale pink with a string of rosy pearls trailing down her chest, her mother kneaded her elegant fingers through her locks soothingly and asked, "Did you make any friends at school?"_

" _I think so," Gertrude said, too relaxed to be able to focus on spinning a nicer tale for her mom. "The boy in the desk ahead of me shared his reading book with me. Thankfully when we do group readings, we all stick to the same reading level."_

 _She yawned and didn't think much of her mother's pause in scalp massage (for as volatile as her mother's relationships with men were, she was very protective of even a ten year old Gertie around any boy, child or otherwise)._

 _Her mother's voice was warm and enveloped her like a blanket as she spoke. "Well, you will be pleased to hear that I procured your books for you today in town, so you won't have to share anymore. Won't that be nice!"_

" _Oh yes," a sleepy-eyed Gertie agreed._

 _Truth be told, Gertie—at the risk of more teasing—pretended she didn't have her reading book the next few days ("The bookshop clerk told my mother that it would arrive Sunday") and then the next few weeks she would conveniently forget it ("-on my nightstand. I love reading before bed" a latter half being a true statement, nonetheless), all for the chance to share with Phillip Shortman, who always offered._

 _If Gertrude thought she loved him the first day of class, she would have laughed at her former self knowing how deep her love would dive just after a few months as they rounded into the holiday season. It was to be expected considering the amount of time spent together. Try as she might to deny it, Gertrude waited by the west-facing window of the parlor every morning and stepped out the door just in time for him to pass her gate. Him being a gentleman—not to mention much desiring her company—would await her presence at the gate, open it for her even under her callous insults and walk her to school. Gertrude always clung tightly to her books, and Phillip relentlessly teased her about letting him carry them._

 _Once they reached the school yard, she ditched him, flying away from Phillip like a gust of wind. He was always perplexed by her insults and her pranks, many of which were almost too intense to handle, but as long as she thought of him, he didn't really mind how she did it. Okay...that was a lie. He definitely minded when she poured honey on him and rolled him on an ant hill (she was freakishly strong) and he definitely didn't like_ anyone _making fun of his batting stance during stickball, even if it was the girl he harbored deep, affectionate, unrequited feelings for._

 _But the walks to and from school made it all worth it. Away from prying eyes, she blossomed like a flower in the sun, slowly at first, but then animated, like she was caught in a breeze and her emotions swayed this way and that. It was at these times that he felt like he really caught a glimpse of the girl under the rough exterior and had an inkling that maybe the shy, sensitive girl that showed herself the first day of school was the_ real _Gertrude._

 _But boy did he get a real view of Gertrude, not the bully, but the won't-take-shit-from-no-one, tough-as-nails-like-her-momma-raised-her Gertrude, and it all happened the day Gertrude met his sister, Mitzi. It was the first time Gertrude had come into his home to complete an assignment for their Christmas Concert._

 _Mrs. Crenshaw had called attention to them both when assigning dialogues to the children, though she asked them straight away, "You both play piano, correct?"_

" _Yes, ma'am." From Gertrude._

" _A little." From Phil._

 _Mrs. Crenshaw raised an eyebrow mildly as she eyed the pair. "I assume both of you being pupils of mine can at least interpret and learn this piece by our Concert date?"_

 _She presented them with one copy of music, which Phil took and Gertie studied over his shoulder. Silence from both._

 _Mrs. Crenshaw, having had it up to her glasses with their squabbles during class throughout the year, went so far as breaking her "no one is moving from their assigned desk" policy by switching the two of them so Phil would stop turning around to often to argue with his classmate (though this seemed to be at the request of his father who insisted that Phillip claimed that Gertrude was the root of all disruptions, but, in her experience in that tiny school house and others besides, it always took two to make an argument). That seemed to work in terms of either of them talking during class, but somehow the arguments continued, even without Gertrude needing to turn around. Mrs. Crenshaw was a firm believer in treating children like adults in the fashion of they had to come reach their own interpersonal resolutions. Her job was to instruct them and_ nurture _them, not lead them by the bit like a horse, or in the case of the these two, drag behind her like a pair of asses._

 _By gum, this project was going to bring settlement or so help her they could spend the rest of their school days in opposite corners wearing matching dunce caps. (She also was attempting to knit a "get-along-sweater" for the two of them: two sleeves, one large head hole, and cinches to pull each opening tight for good measure)._

 _Both scholars nodded their heads and she nodded with an air of finality. "Good," she said with an unsympathetic voice._

 _On the walk home, Phil broke the silence asking after Gertrudes piano ownership status, to which she informed him that yes, she did have one, but it was terribly old (being her grandmother's) and out of tune. They were almost to Gertrude's gate, and Phil suggested, "Well, we have an old upright that was actually recently tuned. You should come over today and we can practice some. Get better acquainted...with the ivory." The last bit tacked on hastily for fear of how it sounded aloud._

 _Gertrude bit her lip. The thought of going to Phil's house, well that made her jumpy from nervousness and excitement. It was almost too easy to casually chirp "sure". But that meant that she would have to drop in and explain to her mother where she was going, why her chores would be somewhat neglected, and yes, she will be on time for dinner._

" _I have a project my teacher assigned me with-" The person I love more than anything else on God's good, green earth. The person that sends my heart flying through the clouds. My mortal enemy when the time calls for it. "A friend."_

 _Gertrude was able to play it off so well that even she-herself believed how nonchalant her voice sounded. Her mother however, had a look on her face. To the outside eye of a stranger, it looked fairly neutral, on the pleasant side to be sure, but to Gertie she knew this face. Her mother was trying to figure her out, like a puzzle. This was the most critical look she could receive from her mom, and she fought hard not to squirm under the gaze._

 _But, the look broke after a beat, and her mother was back to skimming her magazine with an amiable expression. "Okay, dear. Have fun and be careful."_

 _Gertrude made her way out the door and back down the lane, knowing her partner was waiting for her, but not knowing that her mother was watching her walk away beside the same boy she walked to school with each morning. The curtain dropped across the window pane and the two were out of sight._

 _Phillip's home was two stories and Gertrude felt herself gaping. What a beautiful home. Red brick, a cheery green door, and a big stoop._

" _You live here?" Gertrude gasped before she could stop herself and heard a chuckle from her companion._

" _Yeah, well me and my dad, and some other families. It's a boarding house, so we have tenants." Gertrude took in with wide eyes, drinking in the details while the boy called out, "Father? Father, I'm home!"_

 _Phil heard footsteps, but not the heavy, long gate of his father, but quick, light footsteps. Short and clipped, but all heel-toe-heel-toe. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath and Gertrude could only send him a quizzical look before a rather tall girl, both her and Phil's age entered the room, all knees and elbows...and chin, entered the room with a no-nonsense and eager step. Her bright auburn hair was cropped short and she wore a smart magenta skirt and sweater over a pressed and starched white blouse._

" _Hey, there Philly. Brought home a little playmate did you?" Phil felt heat rise in his cheeks. He hated when his sister talked to him like he was a baby. They were the same age!_

 _Instead of answering her, Phil asked sharply, "What're you doing here, Mitzi?"_

" _Why, this is my home, Phillip. Or is your public school education turning you into such an idiot that you forgot?" Before Phil could even open his mouth to retort, Mitzi was breezing passed him and making her way toward his companion. Oh, no. If he wasn't already humiliated enough, his friendship with Gertie was just building up. It would topple like a house of matchsticks if Mitzi was involved._

 _His sister marched right up to the blonde and thrust her hand out to shake it. "I'm Mitzi Shortman, Phil's twin sister. Older by six minutes."_

 _Gertrude crossed her arms over her body as she ignored the proffered hand and asked Phil,"I thought it was just you and your dad that live here."_

" _I have been away at Our Lady of Prompt Succor School for Young Ladies on scholarship. Philly, here, didn't get awarded any such scholarship so he lives here all the time with our father, getting ready to take over the family business I suspect, while I have the world open to me in terms of career choice."_

 _Phil raised his voice in order to defend himself. He didn't want Gertrude to think he was an idiot._

" _The all boy's school didn't have a scholarship to win, and even if they did, there are a lot more boys to compete with than girls!"_

" _You keep telling yourself that, Philly. You tried for that scholarship and you failed. But, you can't help it," she said placatingly. "After all, you're just a dunce."_

 _With every syllable Phil felt his face grow hotter and hotter, knew not just his cheeks, but his entire face, even his ears resembled a tomato._

 _But a clear, strong voice rang out in the foyer._

" _Phillip is_ not _a dunce." It was Gertrude. He had seen her yell, pick fights, all with signs of classic anger: shouting, threatening, posturing, especially at the boys. But this? She looked enraged, but it played over her face in a calm, restrained way that hid the caged wrath inside. She went on to raise her nose in a somewhat haughty gesture, her voice smooth and controlled, not betraying anything but the whip-sharp whit that cracked like lightning in her mind. "In fact, he leads our class in all subjects, even over the older students. He is what Mrs. Crenshaw describes as a model pupil, a scholar for all to aspire to be. And anyhow, enough about him. I want to hear about all about how you were awarded that scholarship to an all girl's school with that face. With a chin like yours, how you weren't mistaken for a boy really is a miracle."_

 _And she said it all with the most indulgent, dignified voice. Phil could kiss her, maybe even would have if his mouth wasn't hanging open, then covered with his hand to cover a hoot and laugh at Mitzi's face who was stricken silent. Such noise would have soiled Gertrude's mental victory, so he stayed smugly silent. Gertrude rose an eyebrow, waiting for a reply from Phillip's older sister, but when none came she said._

" _Well, you can tell me all about it once you find your voice that was so present just a few moments ago." Then with all the derision and contempt that she truly felt added, "I'd love to hear all about Our Lady of Rapid Succulence."_

 _She brushed passed Mitzi, reaching out to grasp Phillip's elbow in and lead him further into the bowels of the house. "Come on, Phil. I'd like to say hello to your father before we get started on our duet."_

 **Hey all! A belated Christmas present! I spent the last few nights and this morning writing so I hope you like it! I hope you have spent the season with friends and family. Love you all! As my New Years Resolution I'm going to try to update all of my stories more often, and finish two of them!**

 **Here's hoping this one is one of them!**

 **3**


	5. Cause Memories True Come Out of the Blue

_Phil's father was a tall man with a who's voice boomed when he spoke such was his enthusiasm. He had a similar face, classically handsome with a strong chin._

" _How ya doing, Gertrude. It's very nice to meet you," he told her, lightly grasping her hand as if she were a lady._

" _How do you do?" she asked, not forgetting her manners. Unsympathetic to Phil's embarrassment, his father ribbed him with an elbow and said, "Well whaddaya know? Seems you brought home a real lady, kid."_

 _Gertrude found the grace to continue polite conversation by complimenting Phillip instead. "Well, Phillip is a real gentleman. He's been nothing but kind to me since I arrived as the school year started."_

 _It wasn't a lie, but she still felt guilty saying it since she was so horrid to him every day at school. His father clapped him on the shoulder and he could see what he wanted to say in his eyes: I'm proud of you, son._

 _But instead, his father warmly said, "Did you happen to say hello to your sister?"_

 _Phil's expression darkened, but he tried to not let it affect his voice. "Yeah, we saw her in the foyer."_

" _It's no nice to have her back for another break. I know Thanksgiving just happened, but it's been so different since your mom died. It is nice to have the family together."_

 _Phil felt guilty remembering the exchange in the hall, especially when his dad was so happy to have his kids together. If only…_

 _The silence carried in the room and Gertie tried not to shuffle her feet. Mr. Shortman cleared his throat, bringing them all out of it, and suggested, "Well, sounds like the two of you have some work to do. Better get a move on."_

 _The song on the piano was harder than they anticipated. First Gertrude had tried it with Phil accompanying on vocals, no such luck. Her arms weren't long enough to reach all the notes she needed._

" _Okay Phil, you're taller and you've got bigger hands. Why don't we try you on the piano and me singing?"_

 _Only, Phil wasn't nearly as accomplished on the piano as Gertie. Sure he started off okay, but the transitions got his long fingers twisted._

" _Maybe," he started, and then stopped. There's no way she would be okay with this. There's just no way._

 _Gertrude watched him hm-and-ha and eventually snapped at him, "What?"_

 _He flinched, brought out of his reveries._

" _Well, we could sit next to each other. I could try to get the notes on one side, you can get them on the other."_

 _Gertie considered this for a moment. "What about singing?" Hmmm, good point._

" _What if we both sing."_

 _After thinking it over for a bit, Gertie concedes. "Well, it's better than the plan I don't have, and we won't know unless we try. Alright chin-...I mean, Phil. Come take a seat."_

 _Gertrude patted the piano bench beside her and Phil felt like pinching himself as he sat beside her. His whole right side was pressed against and brushing her, his elbow, his shoulder, and oh, goodness! His knee!_

 _'Don't look at my face, don't look at my face,' he thought, for it was a cherry. Gertrude, little did he know, was thinking the same and her blushed reached her collar bone. What was she thinking saying yes to that of all things? How was she supposed to handle the instrument when all she could think of was her whole left side and how it brushed and pressed against his._

 _Her voice sang out and his finally joined in as their fingers pressed the keys._

 _When life gets you down_

 _Wearing a frown_

 _Don't look away_

 _Look up_

 _Oh! Sour note._

" _Well, it seems to be working a little, but I'm trying to press the keys you're trying to press and who is keeping time on the pedals? Maybe we need really comb through this and mark who plays what," Phil suggested._

 _Gertrude looked at the grandfather clocked and gauged the time._

" _Maybe tomorrow? My mother is expecting me home soon. I think even a brisk walk won't get me there in time. I didn't realize how we lost the time. I'm going to be in a heap of trouble when I get back."_

 _She worried at the edge of her skirt, and Phil suggested, "Well, maybe my dad can walk you. That way he can make sure you get there in time and your mom doesn't blame you."_

 _Gertrude bit her lip. That could work or it could all go horribly wrong. But, it was worth a shot, or else if she was late with no adult or explanation, she would definitely receive resistance for the rest of their project._

" _Okay," she relented._

 _The walk back with his father was, well, nice. He was a nice man and asked after her and her life._

 _When she mentioned she moved here with her mother, he didn't inquire to the absence of her father, but only asked what her mother's profession was._

" _Oh, she's a seamstress," Gertrude answered._

" _Ah, then I'm sure she has her hands full for the pageant," he said, alluding to the costumes and outfits that normally accompany such an event._

 _Gertie picked at a piece of fuzz on her skirt. "Actually, no. I didn't even know about that."_

" _Oh well, that's no problem. I'm sure we can tell her all about it when you get home." He was so relaxed, it eased Gertie a little, but as her house came into view she got anxious._

 _Her voice came out quavery when she informed Mr. Shortman that he needn't accompany her any further if it was too much trouble as her mother came out the front door and down their front walk to meet them._

" _Nonsense," he laughed. "I have a duty to make sure a fine young lady gets home safely."_

 _Gertrude gave a nervous laugh, and when he wasn't looking gave herself a good smack in the forehead._

 _They reached the gate, and her mother had her arms crossed across her stomach and her lips were thin. She didn't like to be surprised. Gertie shot her mother an apologizing look, 'I swear mom I had no idea!' but she was waved onto the property._

 _Not wanting to be rude, her mother at least had the decency to say, "Thank you for bringing my daughter home. I hope that she wasn't any trouble." Gertie winced. Because apparently having a friend's parent home couldn't mean any different. How was her mother supposed to know any better? They never stayed in one place long enough for her to make any friends._

" _Oh, no trouble at all," his father coughed. "They just got so caught up in working hard that time got away from them. It was my fault anyhow, I was supposed to keep an eye on the time since the sitting room doesn't have a clock."_

 _Her mother just merely hummed in acknowledgement._

" _So Gertrude here tells me your a seamstress. If I'm not mistaken Mrs. Crenshaw could be in use of your services for the holiday concert, and honestly I could too, personally. Would you mind if I made a referral. It's always nicer to give business to a friend that a stranger, you know?"_

" _I thank you for the thought, Mr. -" she said stiffly._

" _Shortman."_

" _-but I will inquire after the concert business personally. You needn't worry yourself on my account."_

" _No trouble at all, I assure you," he said casually, but was beginning to feel the chill emanating from her person and noticed the pleading eyes from Gertrude._

" _Well I guess I'll leave you ladies to it. Looks like we'll be seeing more of each other since our kids are working together." Gertrudes mother ran a hand over her progeny's hair fondly and sighed._

" _I suppose it does," she sighed with half-lidded eyes._

 _Once inside, her mother rounded on her. "What were you thinking Gertrude Elizabeth?"_

" _I didn't do anything," Gertie defended. "Mrs. Crenshaw gave us the assignment and-"_

" _I knew you were too involved with that boy, too involved! This ends now!"  
"But mom! I can't not do our piece for the concert! It was assigned!" she wailed desperately. _

_Her mother took a shaky breath, eyebrows knit together. "No," she said quietly, "I supposed you're right." Gertrude watched as her mother put her finger to her painted lip to think. "After this concert, you are to limit your interaction with him to school only. No walks home, no after school activities."_

 _Gertrude, not usually one to talk back exploded at her mother at the thought of giving up her only friend in Hillwood._

" _Why does it matter so much that I'm friends with him? He hasn't done anything wrong!"_

 _Her mother sighed, pressing the heal to her hand to her forehead like she did when she was staving off a headache._

" _That boy, that man who is his father, the only reason he shared his book, the only reason he offered us business is because he pities us. He doesn't think we can make it on our own, just because I'm a single mother."_

 _Gertrude cried, "He's never said that! Phillip would never think that."_

 _Her mother sneered, "Well Phillip's_ father _met me in the market and could only comment about how I was unmarried. How it_ must _be difficult to keep a household as a single mother."_

" _But isn't it?"_

 _Her mother instantly rounded on her. "The difficulties definitely abound when your daughter decides to be lippy and talk back incessantly."_

" _I'm sorry," Gertrude wilted. Her mother's anger deflated at her daughter's dejection, but the cross look didn't leave her face._

" _More to the point, yes, it is. I work really hard so that we can have what we do, no matter how meager it is. And it was rude of him to mention it. The only people who do that are people who enjoy holding it over your head. Now I don't want to hear another word about it. Your dinner is on the stove."_

" _Yes, mother." Gertrude said, dragging her feet to the kitchen. Her mother called out behind her._

" _Rest assured, when this is over, you will not be spending extra time with this boy. This ends after the concert. I will not have my daughter treated like a charity case. Do you understand me, Gertrude Elizabeth?"_

"Of course, she was wrong."

"Yyyyep!" Phil agreed from where he lounged in bed. "That was only the beginning of it."

"But I don't get it," Arnold cut in. "If he was so nice to you, why were you so rotten to him Grandma."

"Oh, likely displaced emotions and aggression," Grandma said casually and Helga felt like tugging at her collar. Was she in the room with Dr. Bliss or what?

"But it was okay. She was my friend, and I loved her."

Gertrude reached out and took Phil's wrinkled hand in her own and squeezed.

"That's really sweet," Helga breathed with a hand over her heart and Arnold raised his eyebrows. He _knew_ Helga was sensitive. You could usually see it in her eyes and hear it in the words she chose to use. But she always seemed to be so closed off around him, especially lately. It was nice to see emotion genuinely play on her face.

He made the decision right then and there to apologize to her before she left the house that night.

Gertrude still was beaming at Phil as she said softly, "He was so kind to me. My first and best friend. Did you ever have anyone like that, Helga? A friend you've had since before you could remember?"

"Phoebe's been her best friend since they were in pre-K," Arnold answered.  
"Ah, yes, Gerald's wife. She sure is a sweet gal. Now that you mention it, I do recall seeing you girls together often as kids," Grampa Phil said.

"Actually, Arnold was."

Hold crap. Helga wanted to pat herself on the damn back. That voice she just used was way stronger than she could ever imagine. But she had to tell them, had to tell them in front of Arnold. They would be so proud. You got this, old girl.

This time with as much conviction as she felt, she told them, "Arnold was the first person to be nice to me."

"I was?"

Helga glanced quickly at Arnold, shyly looking through her lashes at him and finally sitting up straighter so that she could pretend to be open and bright, like it was no big deal that he had been so good to her when she could cry remembering it. It was the world to her.

She let out a nervous laugh much like she used to as a child and addressed his grandparents as she recalled. "Yeah. The first day of preschool—you were dropping him off Phil—Arnold got out into the rain and held his umbrella over my head. He walked me to the door. Then he told me he liked my bow 'because it's pink like your pants'. Then at snack time another kid took my crackers and Arnold offered me his when I was about to cry. I didn't even ask him for them, he just _gave_ them to me. Not matter what, he has always been kind, even when I wasn't the nicest to him when we were kids."

Helga had taken to staring at her twiddling thumbs as she went through her reverie, and was met with silence when her sentence concluded. She looked self-consciously at her company and felt her face grow warm.

"But I mean," she backpedaled, looking nervously to the blonde man sitting next to her. "We were so young, you probably don't remember. And anyway, Arnold's always been nice to everybody, not just me."

Phil gave her a sidelong glance and agreed slowly, "Yeah, Arnold always has been a nice boy." He trailed off as he continued his sentence, seeming to fall asleep, "We are so proud of him….."

Snores reached their ears not seconds later and Grandma turned to them and said, "He's just tired, is all. But no wonder, it's gotten late with all our story telling. Best we all get to bed."

Helga stood then and jutted a thumb over her shoulder.

"I should probably get going."

"Oh, but you couldn't possibly leave. It's storming so heavily outside," Gertrude gasped. It was then that Helga noticed the steady pelting on the panes of glass, the deep rumble of thunder.

The young woman waved a hand flippantly. "I'll be alright. It's not that far."

"By stars, you don't even have a coat or an umbrella!" Grandma exclaimed. "You must stay. I have sleep set you can wear, and I'm sure Arnold won't mind sharing his room."

"But I-" she protested before Gertrude grasped her wrist with surprising strength.

Arnold followed behind them to his grandmother's closet. Helga sent him a pleading look, but he looked doubtfully at the window.

"I don't know, Helga. She may be right. It's pretty bad out there and you would have to wait for a bus or walk. I could take you in the car-"

"Oh I couldn't ask you to right now."

"Besides," he said, voice lowering. "I really think she likes having you here. I think Grandpa being like this is having her feeling off, and you seem to be bringing comfort."

"Here it is!" his grandmother proclaimed, depositing a set of midnight blue pajamas into Helga's hands. "Now, the water closet is down the hall. We have some extra toothbrushes in there. Make yourself at home."

'Make yourself at home.' It played over and over in her mind, and she grumbled to herself over it. 'Oh yeah,' she thought sarcastically. 'It's just so easy to make herself at Arnold's home, standing barefoot in his room wearing these _ridiculously_ nice pajamas.'

"Shit, are these _silk_?" Helga muttered to herself. She heard the attic stairs creak and turned in time to see Arnold give her a once over. She was eyeing the pillow and pile of blankets in his hands when she heard him say, "Wow, those are really nice. I don't think I've ever seen them before."

Helga self-consciously rubbed at her arm and cursed how nice the long sleeves felt as they slide over her skin. "Look, Arnold. I'm sorry to be so much trouble-" she started as he pressed a button on his remote allowing his couch to pop into existence.

He laid one blanket down first, tucking it into the cushion as he said, "You're not any trouble, Helga. I think it's just been kind of emotionally exhausting for everyone, but trust me, it's not because of you. If anything, I think you helped."

"Alright," Helga said, not sounding all that convinced.

"And besides, we've spent the night together before. It'll be just like biosquare only you won't eat our experiment and we won't have to worry about any ant farm. We all just need some rest"

That startled a laugh out of Helga, who then gave a real chuckle thinking about how absolutely ridiculous that experiment had been.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she conceded, too exhausted to continue with her distress. Everything would look better in the morning, she hoped. She made her way toward the couch, yawning and stretching as she went.

"Oof!"

And in midstretch bumped straight into Arnold who was firmly planted between her and the couch.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

Helga gave him a bewildered expression as she pointed lamely to the couch. "Going to lay down. We're going to sleep aren't we?"

"Yes, but you're not sleeping on the couch. Take my bed."

Helga looked passed Arnold to the couch and gave him a deadpan look. "There's no way you're sleeping or even attempting to—since I can guarantee you haven't gotten decent sleep on that thing since before sophomore year. You're too tall."

"I'll be fine," he assured her, but Helga crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Don't argue with me, Helga. It would make me feel better if I knew you were in a comfortable bed instead of on this couch."

"Then what do you think would make _me_ feel better?" she retorted.

"But you're the guest," Arnold fired back.

"So what I say goes, is how it goes in this house if I remember correctly."

"Ugh."

After much "deliberation" i.e. arguing, the couch was abandoned, and they settled on the both of them in the bed since it was large enough, but sleeping in opposite directions as to not be less awkward.

So here she was. Head feet away from where his toes were tucked cozily under the blanket. Sandwiched between him—he insisted on sleeping on the outer edge of the bed—and his bookshelf. Surrounded in his smell. Thankfully, the pajamas and the blanket smelled enough like laundry to cut through the utter essence of him.

'Yeah, less awkward, my ass!' she thought sourly.

What she wouldn't give to be sharing a pillow, his arm around her waist, snuggled back to front, under the same covers, legs in a tangled sending the sheets into disarray.

The track lights had been turned out already with a press of Arnold's thumb to the remote and they lay beneath the concave skylight, listening to the patter of raindrops and watching rivulets of water form, running and carving down the glass.

Slight shuffling sounds pierced the resonant silence in the room as an arm moved here, a leg moved there, little movements of two bedfellows trying to get comfortable without disturbing the other.

Helga wanted to sleep so badly. But her eyes continued to pop wide open, heart pounding knowing she was so close to him and burdened with the guilt she still felt.

She heard herself sigh as she mentally prepared herself to apologize to him. It had to stop. She had to make this right.

"I never should have said those things to you," Arnold said suddenly.

Helga's brain short-circuited. Did he just say…? She rose onto an elbow and tried to peer at him through the darkness. The city lights played off of the clouds above, the green, squarish numbers of the clock glowed. She could see more of him than she thought she would. Arnold was still laying on his back, not looking at her, chest rising and falling like he was taking deep, controlled breaths. Anguish played across his features.

"What?" she asked dumbly.

"About your mom, and the surgery. Helga-" He sat up to look at her. "Helga, I had no right to say those things to you. You had every right to be scared and confused. And it definitely doesn't make you a bad person to not have gone through with it. I'm so sorry."

Arnold was staring at her face, looking at her so earnestly that she wouldn't be confused if reached out to grasp her hands like in a Jane Austen novel. For a moment, she was speechless.

He took the silence as a poor sign, and looked down in his lap again. "I just wanted you to know that. I have owed you an apology for a long time, and I know that me saying those things made our friendship—one that seems to mean as much to you as it does to me—go south. We almost lost it because I said those things. I just hope...we can find ourselves again, if that makes sense?"

He...Arnold thought that she avoided him, that their friendship suffered because of him? Oh, God, no!

"I went through with it," Helga blurted out.

Arnold's face snapped up to look at her, lounging back on her elbows head raised to look at him. "What?"

"Yeah, uh...do you want to see my scar?" It was like they were nine again and someone had gotten their appendix out instead of giving part of their liver to their alcohol-induced-liver-failure-y mother.

Helga shifted her weight to one elbow to pull up the pajama shirt, revealing the milky skin of her abdomen and the raised chevron that ran along the bottom of her rib cage.

"Helga-" Arnold breathed, taking in the obvious surgical scar.

"I went through with it," Helga said again, quietly, still holding her shirt out of the way, glancing down at her own scar.

Arnold's hand came into her field of vision so quickly that Helga didn't realize what was happening until his fingers were tracing the scar, smoothing his pads over the glossy pink line, the obvious suture marks, and the dots.

"It's so big," he murmured.

Helga's voice wavered at the feeling of him softly touching her, and she cleared her throat in attempts to control it.

"Yeah, laparoscopic surgery wasn't an option when my parent's doctor was kind of an old fart who only believed in old-farty medicine so..."

"I hope not because of me," he said, referring to her surgery happening at all.

Helga smiled softly and said, "Kind of."

She felt Arnold flinch, but he didn't take his hand away. It lay against her with gentle pressure, his lifeline memorizing where she had been cut open and part of her had been taken out. "Not that I did it because you told me to...but I wanted to do the right thing. And I knew you always do the right thing, or at least try to. And I wanted... _I_ wanted to do the right thing for me, for Miriam, for our family..." (for you). "So I went and talked to her and she cried. She didn't beg. She said she knew she didn't deserve it, but she promised, swore that she would be better, for me, for Olga and Boreas. She meant it. I believed her, deep down. So, yeah...I did it."

Arnold's hand was warm and heavy. Oh, God, he was tracing the line again. Lost in thought, his knuckles glanced across hers, where she was holding up her shirt. Had her hand not been there that would have been the underside of her breast. She took a shaky breath. 'Keep it together, Pataki!'

"That was really brave of you, Helga. And I'm so sorry. I didn't know about your history with your mom before that. Phoebe told me enough for me to get it after we had our fight. Don't be mad at her."

Helga sighed and smiled ruefully. Oh, Phoebe. She only wished she could be half as good a friend to her as she had been to her.

"Don't be. You couldn't have known."

"That's the thing, Helga. I should have realized it. Of course, it seems so obvious now that it was pointed out to me, and not even by you. I was pushy and frustrated, I'm sorry."

"And stop apologizing. I should be apologizing to you. What I said about your parents, I don't know how you're still talking to me after I said that," she said, her voice cracking. She gasped a sob, and put her hand over her mouth, taking on the full brunt of emotions and grief she felt. How could she have hurt the person she loved so much? She recalled how he had been when her dad referred to him as the orphan boy at Parent's Day.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped.

He was on his knees leaning over to look into her face. "Hey, hey. Don't cry."

"I'm not," she argued weakly, and then with more force, tamping down her emotions again, her voice came under control and she felt hostility ring in it. "I'm not."

"Okay," he said softly, understanding. "I forgive you. You were right."

"That doesn't mean I should have said it," Helga sniffed grumpily, skirting around the fact that she didn't agree with him. It felt necessary to argue with him this time. She _needed_ him to know how deep her apology ran.

Arnold hummed in a pondering manner. "It's okay that you did, though. We are good enough friends that you can call me out when I'm wrong and vise versa, right?"

Helga took in what he said, trusting that he was okay with what happened. She nodded and heaved a calming sigh, feeling the urge to choke out another sob subside entirely at his hooded eyes and dopy smile, "Yeah."

She felt the mattress dip as Arnold leaned forward slowly, eyes on hers, and her heart jumped into her throat. Helga couldn't help the quick dart her eyes made to his mouth, but he was so close, and when he spoke next, it was a low, throaty murmur.

"So we're even, then?" It made her shiver. He surely felt it, but he gave no indication except to shift his hand to fully palm her ribcage, thumb pressing—she assumed—unintentionally to her scar.

She could die. Right this moment she could absolutely bite the big one with his hand holding her like that. Did he realize what he was doing?!

Helga didn't trust her voice. Did she even have one? She settled on a nod, her eyes still glued to his.

Arnold smirked.

Confused, Helga took in the expression. So boyish and roguishly handsome on his beautiful face. But why?

Arnold's other hand shot out, grasping the other side of her torso. With a squawk of surprised indignation from the blonde woman (which he promptly ignored), Arnold lifted her like she was a sack of potatoes and deposited her next to him in bed, head on the same side.

"Then we are gonna sleep like friends who are even and okay. I've known you too long-" (and care about you too much, he thought to himself) "-to keep up with this."

She had landed with a bounce and an "oof", hearing his declaration, but not really believing that he just did that. Had Helga been braver, she would have loved to tackle and wrestle him, at least given him a what-for before letting him win with kisses and touches.

Ah, dreams. The abstract manifestations of her longing for the tangible. Could passion not be measured in kisses and caresses?

'Stop it. No need for that garbage.'

Arnold was reaching for her pillow at the foot of his bed when he paused, unsure for a moment when he had just been so confident seconds prior. He looked mildly alarmed.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His green eyes (she couldn't see the color with the light, but she could never forget that color) were on her midsection.

"No, the surgery was almost a year ago," she breathed, still reeling on her back.

He gave her a clipped "good" and he unceremoniously whapped her pillow on top of her head. It shocked a concussive laugh out of her, and he laughed along with her as he scoffed at their separate blankets.

Helga felt dizzy when he yanked hers away from her and fluffed his over her.

They were sharing a blanket.

Her younger self, the one that still lived crouching in the inner recesses of her mind, wincing against the possibility of rejection wanted to come out of her fetal state and lash out, yell at him for being so forward and assuming she wanted anything to do with him let alone lay with her head resting next to his.

The older Helga, well into her twenties, ignored her younger self (who simultaneously wanted to breath the same air Arnold breathed while they slept). Sure, she was still delivering a sarcastic "whatever floats your boat, Arnoldo", but it was done with a tone of affection that she couldn't bear to banish from her voice. Helga had laid awake too many nights knowing that her impulsivity and avoidance had almost pushed him away for good. She was determined to be a somewhat stable human being, damn it.

And even as he huffed out a laugh, a resigned smile played on his face at her response, no longer seemingly puzzled for he knew her game by now, didn't he? Was that why he thought it was a good idea to throw his arm over her and pull her into him?

"Whaddaya think you're doing?" Helga squeaked. Ugh, get it together! Helga Pataki does NOT squeak.

"Hush up, Pataki."

It was quiet then. And for a moment, Helga allowed herself to be lost in his feather light embrace, with her face occupying the nook created by his strong chin and throat. If she so much as spoke from where she was now, her lips would inevitably brush against the bit of collarbone that was exposed from underneath the white t-shirt Arnold wore.

"Arnold?" He squeezed her. He murmured at her crown of flaxen locks, "I'm sorry, I just-I thought we lost it all."

Helga lost count of how many times her breath was taken away from her today, and not by the mechanical pressure he exerted on her ribcage, but by how scared he sounded while relieved at the same time.

It all: the years of friendship, rocky as it had been during school, growing more respectful and stable as they got older, still reserved and hands-off for the most part thanks to her. He didn't know the extent of the progress she made with her own mind and thanks to Dr. Bliss (who would in turn give Helga all the credit, deservedly).

She remembered making the conscious decision as they transitioned to high school that, yeah, being angry was part of who she was, part of who she grew up as, but she didn't _want_ to be that way, at least all the time. She dimmed the intensity down and matured her meanness to snarky, at least for the people she thought deserved better, which when she thought about it was more than she had anticipated: Phoebe (obviously), Olga, Gerald, and a number of her childhood classmates. She even kept in contact via writing with Mr. Simmons, knowing how much he liked reading her work and how hard he had tried to make sure they (not just she) felt special even though _none of them_ appreciated it at the time.

And if Helga were truly honest with herself, which she still struggled to do sometimes, but she was trying damn it, it felt really good to show her kinder, gentler self, especially after people got over the shock of it all. At first the wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and placating tones were annoying enough that she almost called it off and stayed her mean, nasty childhood self. But she worked passed it. She worked hard. Her habits of self-preservation through aggression were long-lived and die hard, but she quickly realized how _exhausting_ being angry had been. Helga could only imagine how trying it was for the people around her. Through this self-reflection, Helga found a new perspective on the relationship between her perpetually angry father and her always-needing-a-nap, alcoholic mother. Again, she felt like she could kiss Phoebe for staying beside her all these years.

However, these were all people who had received the lesser end of her temper and scorn in comparison to the verbal lashings Arnold had incessantly received. It occurred to her as she grew older and wiser to her own behavior (and after a load of soul-searching), that it just _didn't make sense_ for her to displace onto Arnold anymore. Sure, she was still afraid of rejection, but when had he ever rejected her, really? Never. Even if it wasn't a romantic type of acceptance, it was more than she deserved for all the years of bullying and putdowns. How Arnold stayed his same, optimistic self around her was a wonder to Helga because even she sometimes made the mistake of falling into old mannerisms, pushing him away and berating him.

Yeah, she had been afraid they had lost it too. And she told him so.

"And I don't pity you," he muttered.

"I know."

Somehow Helga found the courage to dislodge her pinned arm from between their bodies and tentatively snake it around his waist. The perpetually cool fabric of her nightshirt soaked up his heat as her limb wound about his slim, athletic build. Instead of slapping some sense into her own face, she did what she never did as kids when he would hug her: she hugged him back. She felt the tension ooze out of his muscles of his back as he wheezed a sigh over her head.

Helga wanted to look up at Arnold to talk to him, but she was in dangerous territory as it was. He always seemed to be an affectionate guy, obviously had lost himself in moments on more than one occasion as kids and even into adulthood (she blushed at the thought of their last tete-a-tete) when he would initiate contact with her. She had to remind herself this wasn't some sort of romantic interlude, he wasn't making a move. For Cripe's sake his grandfather was dying down the hall. Arnold was emotional, vulnerable, and Helga wasn't going to make it confusing for him.

However, she recognized with the same puzzled, mystified attitude that she seemed to be bringing him solace like she had brought it to Gertie by being nearby.

So she let him hold her.

 **So I didn't want to go into heavy detail about them in high school and from the movie-confession on because, well this was supposed to be a Gertie/Phil story, but Arnold and Helga have wormed their way in, and I'm really starting to love it, but I don't want to go too far off my originally written out plan. But I think to have her be perpetually the same from when she was nine would 1. be disrespectful to all the progress she would have potentially made 2. unrealistic as no matter how you were as a kid, you're going to change as you grow older, so: maturing and growing passed/healing from her dysfunctional childhood. Most of their interactions and background in Romance Wasn't Built in A Day will be adult-based. Hope you guys are continuing to enjoy!**


	6. Christmas Is About Snowboots!

Helga woke feeling paralyzed. There was a heavy weight on her chest and a sinking feeling in her throat, but taking in the warm body against hers, the rain pattering gently on the skylight, and the gentle breathing of her bedmate, she realized it was just a nightmare.

'Well, good think I didn't thrash,' she thought to herself. Man, they must have both been wiped to have not moved from their original sleeping position. She could have laid there forever…if not for the fact that she needed to piss like a racehorse. On top of which, she was thirsty, like stick your mouth to the faucet thirsty.

She carefully disentangled herself from sleeping Arnold, 'Oh my sweet, dreaming angel' and looked at the clock.

'3:38. Brilliant.'

Helga quietly padded out of the room with the aid of her phone flashlight to use the bathroom and then head down into the kitchen. She felt jumpy, making her way through the old place and not necessarily because of the house because it was admittedly more of a home in practice than hers had been. Maybe that was why? Was she uncomfortable in a home that actually fit the connotation of the word?

"S'bullshit," Helga muttered to herself as she opened cabinets over the oven closest to the fridge in search of cup. "Just shaken up. Stupid dream."

"Time for a midnight snack?" a voice creaked from the darkness and Helga almost jumped out of her skin, letting out a quiet "eep!"

She whirled around to where Gertrude was flicking on the light over the kitchen table, squinting and blinking involuntarily against the flood of brightness, even if the lightbulb itself was dim and yellow.

"No, uh. Looking for a cup." Gertie silently moved to the cabinet nearest the sink and opened it, revealing a number of mismatched cups. She gave one to Helga, who quietly said, "Thank you."

"Bad dreams making it hard to sleep?" Gertie asked, making conversation as she sat down at the table while Helga filled her cup and leaned back against the edge of the sink to take hearty, fish-like gulps.

"Meh, kinda. More like it woke me up and then my bladder made it so I couldn't sleep." Gertie stayed silent, and Helga took this as a cue to continue, though while her mouth opened to talk she wondered why she was. Most likely Gertrude wanted something to distract her mind, and Helga guessed her mommy issues were enough to warrant a subject other than Phil.

"I just had a really disconcerting dream about my mom. I was wandering around, breaking down little by little, looking for these little sparkly, glittery things. I would eat them, and when I did…I donno, I felt pretty good, but as I kept eating more, the good feelings kinda went away quicker, and I felt really bad when I didn't have them. Eventually I got to a mirror maze where I was following them like Pac-Man." Here Helga paused, looking at Gertrude to confirm if she got the reference. The old woman just merely smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, so anyway, I guess I only noticed the mirrors in bits and pieces, and when I finally got to the end, I found a bunch of them overflowing in a goblet, sitting on a table in front of one last huge mirror. It was me in the mirror at first, but my eyes were super yellow, and so was my skin. I looked down at my hands, they were yellow. But they were reaching for the cup. I drank all of it, and when I looked back at the mirrow…I was Miriam."

"Your mother," Gertie confirmed.

Helga broke out of her memory. "Yeah."

It was silent for a long time after that. Helga was starting to think maybe Gertrude thought she was nuts, or heck, maybe nodded off, but after a number of ticks on the clock, Gertie's voices floated in the dark kitchen.

"I used to be afraid I would turn out like my mother, too."

October 28, 1929

It was almost Halloween. Phillip and Gertrude were gluing colorful crimson, tangerine, and yellow leaves to masks to wear to school on Halloween since it was a Thursday this year. Gertie's mother had mellowed out a little on how strict she was with Gertrude, and didn't rightly know she was with the boy she had forbade her daughter from seeing. With the twenties roaring strong soon into the thirties at the end of this year, her mother was fun-loving and free-wheeling with her rich, bootlegger boyfriend.

It also didn't hurt that she believed that Gertie was actually spending time with Mitzi, who she only saw ever so often. She never really cared to check on Gertie's excuses, and Mitzi was happy to show her face at Gertie's house in exchange for her friendship with Jimmy Kafka kept mum when she told her dad she was hanging with Gertie. Like a flower and a bee, the two both gained from the strange, mutualistic relationship they had developed, and that seemed to suit Phil just fine.

"Did your mom finish your costume?" he asked Gertie. The last two years had shown Gertie's mother to be quite the talent at tailoring, giving notoriety so that she had a fairly large clientele. Even without her rich boyfriend, she and Gertrude were getting along well enough when it came to finances.

Gertrude hesitated.

"Well..."

Phillip studied Gertrude who was doing her best to keep her eyes glued on her work and her hands busy gluing. She didn't want to answer him.

"She been spending a lot of time with Mr. Madison?" he guessed. Gertrude's sharply pursing lips were enough of an answer for him.

It's not that Gertrude disliked Mr. Madison. On the contrary, he was a nice enough man. He remembered her name, looked at her when he spoke to her like an adult, and offered to buy her things. And he was handsome to boot, which her mother loved. Gertrude just didn't like the person her mother turned into when she met someone she remotely liked, or in her mother's own word "fell in love with." Her mother under the extreme drunkenness of love became distracted and detached, molding herself to fit with whatever mate she found. She followed him wherever he went, attended his every need. It drove Gertrude crazy, made her more surly than usual, and she knew she had been taking it out on Phil.

But this amazing boy just continued to roll with the punches as one year since her mother burst through the door, sweeping an arm towards Mr. Madison, presenting him to Gertie as the bees knees came upon them. She remembered the sparkle in her mother's eyes, the swooning, the soft smile.

Then came the late night parties. They would stumble giggling through the door at what started as midnight then gradually turned to three, four in the morning, early enough that it made it hard for Gertrude to fall back to sleep before waking for school. Her mother always smelled of stale smoke, alcohol, and sex, a smell Gertrude was too familiar with as a child. Mr. Madison always seemed more put together at the end of an evening, probably tolerance, even though Gertrude was almost certain half the time he was three sheets to the wind along with her mother. Just handled it better, she supposed. He would pat her head, give her a warm smile, and tell her how good she was. God, she wanted to hate him for how good that made her feel. Her mother barely paid attention to her anymore, and one would think it would be so easy for her to resent Mr. Madison for that, but it just made her distance herself from her mother. Gertie told herself she couldn't ever be like that.

There had been a night or two where Gertrude hadn't wanted to stay alone when she knew her mother would be out late at a party. She would eat her supper and then go over to Phil's with a note laid out that she was having a sleepover with Mitzi.

Mr. Shortman never asked any questions when she took Mitzi's room for the evening, and it felt nice to not be alone, to not have to get herself ready for school by herself, to eat breakfast with another human being.

Phil broke her out of her thoughts as he snatched the glue bottle from her hands, which she had gradually stopped using as she was pulled into her own head.

"Don't worry. I'm sure she'll have it done by Thursday. She's got a few more days, it's only Monday."

Gertrude kept her eyes averted and shrugged, as if to say "I guess so." When she finally looked back up at Phil, he had his mask up at his eyes and shot forward, making her jump in her seat and squeak as he yelled "Boo-ah-ha-ha!"

They laughed together at his joke and her cowardly reaction, and Gertrude raised her own mask to her eyes thought it was only half finished. She curled her hand into a claw and rasped, "Rawr!" The two continued on well into the chilly autumn evening while Jack-o-lanterns glowed on the stoop outside.

October 29, 1929

Panic.

Gertrude wasn't a stupid child. Unmotivated sometimes, prone to daydreaming and make believe, but not dim. But she couldn't grasp what the stock market was, what it meant to have it crash, like it was a car. Mr. Madison didn't seem to be worried.

Something about most of his money being converted already into gold, which would only gain value.

He also said something about how the consequences weren't all that dire, but something in her mother's face stretched in worry told her that wasn't correct.

October 30, 1929

Her mother had sent her to the store for some more sugar for the pie they were baking for the next day. They had used most of it to make caramel, for which they needed more wax paper to wrap it in before they gave it out.

Gertrude passed the bank and regarded in mild interest the line three people deep wove it's way around the corner of the building.

October 31, 1929

Gertrude met Phil at her gate. Her mother had strangely suggested that she go trick or treating with "that boy you hide from me."

Why her mother was being indulgent, she could not say. She wasn't drunk or being just plain neglectful, wanting to shove the responsibility of her daughter onto someone else.

No, if anything she was sober and tersely acknowledging that she knew to some extent that her daughter had been disobeying her, though Gertrude hoped she remained ignorant to the frequency.

She was dressed in the costume her mother had found time to finish. Though being a clown was very fashionable this year—and many a girl in her class were—Gertrude instead had a cleopatra costume, complete with a dark wig and a heavy, beaded headdress to place over it. Her mother had even allowed her to line her eyes with kohl black eyeliner, letting the top and lower lines meet in the middle and drawn out toward her temple.

Little did she know that her mother stood anxious at the window, pressing a cigarette between her lips with shaking fingers.

This was going to be her daughter's last Halloween. Might as well let her enjoy it with a boy she was going to leave behind.

Meanwhile, Phil is shaking too, taking in Gertrude's hypnotizing dark eyes and painted crimson lips. She looks like the queen she dresses as...no...she looks like an Egyptian goddess.

She holds her head high and juts her chin out when the older girls pass by snickering in their clown outfits.

He knows they're young, only nine, but he wants to kiss her so badly.

Phil thinks about it as they dump out their pillow cases in his room. He thinks about it while she pushes piece of candy into her mouth, wondering if kissing her would be as sweet as the sugary confections they collected all night.

November 7, 1929

Gertrude didn't come to school that day.

November 9, 1929

She's waiting outside of the school during lunch, dressed in the maroon uniform that he's seen so many times, but on his sister.

"I'm leaving today," Gertrude told Phil. "Mr. Madison can pay for me to go to school, and mom thinks it'll be better for me to be there instead of going with them."

She scuffed the sole of her brand new Mary Jane's on the packed dirt at the front school gate.

Phil stared dazedly at the leather of her shoes that rubbed against the stark white of her stockings.

"Going with them?" he parroted.

Gertrude pursed her lips in the way that marked a precursor for her aggression. He wasn't afraid of her though. He was taller than her now, not that that really made a difference for Gertie. She was a madman in a scuffle.

Her voice was stilted as she grumbled, "Yeah, they are moving to Manhattan after Christmas, but the schools over here are better, or so she says." Phil vaguely wondered why that was so unbelievable to her that the schools on the West Coast would be better, but then again, it was New York. A lot of things were better over there.

Phil pondered if perhaps her mother wanted to escape from this place where people were going to lose a lot of money and leave her daughter in capable hands, in case she failed. That and it gave Mr. Madison complete control over her while securing a future for Gertrude that she couldn't assure on her own. Phil had to give Gertie's mother credit. She was a smart lady when she wanted to be.

But Phil still didn't know what to say to Gertrude. How would he live without seeing her everyday? Seeing her only on breaks and during the summer like his sister? Sure he had Jimmy and a few kids at school, but….well, he couldn't really put words to it, but he and Gertie were different. And it wasn't just a boy and girl puppy love thing. They were close. He was closer to her than anyone else he'd ever met, even Jimmy.

But he had to support her. The pursing of her rosy pink lips had evolved to trembling, and her mahogany eyes were brimming with tears. And her eyebrows were starting to pinch in as she waited impatiently and anxiously for whatever he had to say.

"Come stay with Mitzi-" no. "Come stay with me for Christmas."

Gertrude looked stunned as he took in his request. It took her a minute to answer, but he wasn't nearly as impatient with her as she had been with him.

"Okay."

December 23, 1930

Gertrude dragged her suitcase along into the boarding house, leaning to the side to counteract the weight of it. Things over the last year had been...odd.

She had been admitted into Our Lady of Prompt Succor, was doing well in her classes, and (though she almost didn't believe it herself) had become fast friends with Mitzi. She had tried not to, but damn it, that girl was a spunky and tough as herself, jutting that strong chin at anyone that messed with her and her friends.

Gertrude had learned that Phil and Mitzi were actually not all that different, and had been very close the year that Gertrude had moved into the neighborhood, but before Mitzi had accepted her scholarship for the private school. Mitzi refused to talk about why they had a falling out, and Phil seemed disgruntled that the fake friendship between Gertie and Mitzi had become genuine. However, he was smugly aware that he was still Gertrude's best friend and didn't miss an opportunity to rub that in Mitzi's face.

Gertrude watched cringing when these pissing contests came up, hoping that Mitzi actually didn't care because she had her own close friendship with Samantha Hall back at school.

She had to skip the first Christmas at their house even though Phil had invited her. She had begged her mother, but it was the last Christmas they had in the little home they had made for themselves, and her mother was holding fast to the memories. And honestly, Gertrude didn't mind. It was one of the only nice Christmas's she had with her mom...not to mention there was actually a man in an armchair next to the fire, with a pipe holding her mom's hand as she sipped on egg nog.

Ugh, she loved him yet hated him so much.

Either way, her mother was now Mrs. Madison. The pair had gotten married over Thanksgiving and were on a honeymoon. Her mother was so over the moon and happy that she didn't rightly care that Phillip lived at the house where she was sending her to spend her Christmas Holiday.

Gertrude shuffled into the house and turned into the sitting room where they normally set up the Christmas tree. To her relief, despite the fiscal losses in the community, there was still a real tree present, though not as big or as full. It had some bald spots, but the ornaments were on it and it looked lovely. However, one big thing was missing from the house and its absence made her drop her belongings in shock.

"The piano's gone?" she gasped out loud, not expecting an answer from anyone as she was alone, but she received one anyway.

"Yeah, we had to sell it."

Gertrude whirled around, her shoulder length hair twirling around her face and bumping her jaw.

Jimminy cricket, Phil had gotten tall in the last year. He was always a slender kid, but now he was all limbs, elbows and knees, with large hands sporting long fingers. And was that his voice?

'We're only kids still right?' she panicked in her mind. Short of slapping herself across the face, Gertie snapped herself out of her shock at his appearance and revisited her shock about the piano. Indeed, there was a noticeable outline on the wallpaper where it had shaded the wall from the sun as well as scuff marks on the floor from the piano bench.

"Sold it? But why?"

Phil straightened from where he had been leaning against the doorframe and made his way over to stand with her, facing the wall where the instrument had previously been situated. He stood with his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets of his pants. Phil glanced at Gertrude while she was mourning the loss of the piano, and felt his heart give a heave. He had missed her so much.

"Well, this year has been hard on a lot of people. We had some people leave to go live with family, pool their incomes, you know. But then we had a lot of people come from the midwest and they don't really have much. Father can't find it in himself to charge them anything 'sides what they use in electricity and water, so we had to find money where we could."

"But that-" Gertrude stopped. That was special to her.

Her mouth was pouting in a grim way, trying to stop herself from saying anything else. What was it really? It was just a piano, and what Mr. Shortman was doing was for the good of a lot of people.

Gently, Phil reached out a placed a hand on her shoulder, only after hesitating for a second. "It's okay. The memories are still there."

Gertrude looked up at him, owlish and shocked that he read her mind. She let out a humorless laugh, annoyed with herself for getting so worked up. His voice broke the silence as he stooped to grab her bag.

"Well, you're here now, anyhow. Let's get you settled!"

December 25, 1932

"D'you think it'll always be like this?"

Phil had spoken abruptly in the silence. The pair laid on the floor of the sitting room together where the lights on the trees glowed while the inky darkness of night swallowed the corners of the space and the aphelion surfaces of the furniture.

Gertrude used the tip of her tongue to seal her straw while she hummed, "Hm?" They didn't have any adult eggnog with sprinkled cinnamon like they would have if they had been at The Madison homestead, but they were able to conjure up a bottle of cherry cordial from the cellar along with a jar of shining blackberry preserves to spread over thick spice cake to incorporate in their quiet reveling.

"I mean, only seeing each other a few times a year and at Christmas."

Careful of the boughs—though scarce—overhead, Gertrude rolled onto her side to look at her friend who's face bore a troubled expression. It was true: that had been the pattern for the last few years, much to Gertrude's dismay, but there was hardly anything to be done. Mr. Madison was able to support the family by a comfortable margin, but not much extra travel was to be made. Mr. Shortman certainly couldn't afford it, and Phil was off working at the circus most of the year while she was finishing up her schooling and hoping to maybe win a scholarship to attend college (not that her mother wanted that for her, but thankfully Mr. Madison was a little less conservative and traditional when it came to a woman's role).

"No," Gertrude said, then paused while focusing on the newly pronounced Adam's apple of Phil's throat. "But I don't know how to change that."

"Well," he started and Gertrude watched him fiddling with something in his hands. Turned out it was the jar of salve she had given him for Christmas, for if he ever started the trapeze like he dreamt, his hands would definitely need some healing care. And in the meantime, though she failed to tell him this, it could help with his blisters he received from shoveling up after the elephants. Gertrude watched Phil turned the jar this way and that in his large, calloused hands as he seemed to search for words. "You could live here."

Gertrude smiled softly at Phil who had a noticeable blush on his high cheekbones.

"You could live here with me" is what he had wanted to say, but hadn't. He continued speaking as she continued to be silent.

"I know you're looking to go to the university, and it's still kinduva long drive from here, but at least you wouldn't have to worry about a place to live."

The tiny amounts of alcohol in the cordial pumped their way through his otherwise virgin veins and he kept talking, blathering in a way that would embarrass him for years to come. Her turned to face her too, and his voice was weighty and serious.

"I don't think it's always going to be like this. I have plans you know. I'm gonna do the trapeze, become famous, make enough money to support this place, and I want you here." Phil took her hand in his.

"And I'm gonna buy the piano back."

"And the rest is history?" Helga guessed. "Together forever and whatnot?"

Gertrude smiled ruefully. "If only. I had been so fearful then of turning out like my mother. She had me around the same age. Hopelessly in love with someone she never had. I was so driven to make myself self sufficient and live my life that I didn't even stop to think that I could have someone else by my side through it all."

Helga was silent, staring at her cup of water and Gertrude took in the younger woman's introspective expression.

"Of course," Gertrude said in a knowing tone. "That's not the only thing I was afraid of. Rejection, too, even when he placed the world at my feet."

December 10, 1941

Gertrude's face was frozen in shock. Her throat felt dry and she licked her desertic lips.

Hugging her clipboard of documents to her chest, Gertrude finally found her voice.

"What?"

Phil's grin was huge and lit up his whole face.

"I'm shipping out tomorrow! I'm going to be a war hero!"

Gertrude felt her lips pull into a thin line. Phil's smile faltered as he looked into her face, searching for her eyes now that refused to meet his and instead were glaring at his tags.

"What's the matter, Gertie?"

Her eyes, now rimmed with red found his and she flapped a hand helplessly. "What am I supposed to say, Phil?"

Phil's eyebrows drew together, trying to comprehend why her tone was so cold. "I thought you'd be proud of me. I'm gonna go make something of myself."

"And this is the only way? To go to the most dangerous reaches of the world alone, and maybe never come back?"

A casual smile easily found its way to his face. "I always come back."

And he always had.

She had been the one who hadn't.

She hadn't won the scholarship she wanted that year, or even the year after when Mr. Madison could still afford to send her to the academy to repeat. All of her dreams for college were dashed unless she scrounged up the money herself. The Madisons couldn't afford to spare another dime.

So for the years following school, she had worked jobs in Manhattan as a secretary. The pay was typically better in the summer when it was stifling and the bosses didn't want to do much more than lay around, drink scotch, and smoke.

How they could smoke in such hot weather was beyond her.

But now it was winter. The pay was meager since more people were inclined to stay in the city even with now frigid temperatures, but it was easier to keep offices full. There was less demand, and she typically made less than the male "assistants", which meant they were male secretaries who didn't want the label and didn't have to take it with more pay. She was close though. Another year or two and she could afford most of her tuition.

And now here he was, in front of her in New York, the city he could never afford to travel to even though he always dreamt of it, to tell her he was leaving. And all she could do was be mad at him.

"I requested to ship out from here because...well...I..."

Gertrude felt her eyebrow tick as she clutched the edges of the heavy manilla. Man she wanted to hit him over the head with it.

"Spit it out, Phil!" she snapped.

"I-want-to-ask-you-to-wait-for-me!"

The folders Gertrude had so neatly organized and had been clutching so tightly fell to the ground in a crackling flutter of loose leaf. Her face, which had moments before been pale and wane in worry was flushed and warm, brighter than the sun, and it suddenly didn't feel like winter in her New York office anymore. She couldn't manage thoughts or words, but she did happen to mutter, "Wha-?"

Gertrudes eyes roved over Phil, seemingly realizing for the first time they were adults. He was a man, and he was clutching his hat nervously to his chest while he asked her to wait for him to return home, to be his.

She could see the sweat collecting on his brow, the ruddy blush on his cheeks. Oh, say something, Gertie, what the heck do ya think you're doin'?

Gertrude opened her mouth to speak, but felt her throat close, blocking her words at first until she managed to force out, "I don't know what to say."

Phil's face fell, but almost as quickly lit back up again. Of course she would be nervous. Of course she would have to think about it. He had been thinking about it for years, and he just sprang it on her.

"Actually don't say anything yet. I don't ship out 'till tomorrow morning, just out of the depot downtown. Take your time to think about it 'till then, and if your answer is yes, come see me off."

Gertrude nodded as he stooped down to pick up the papers she had let fall.

"And I promise you, Gertrude Madison," he began in a solemn, warm voice. "I will be a good man for you. I will do my best to make you happy."

Phil started to walk away, leaving Gertrude clutching at her chest as if keeping her hand pressed against her sternum would manually slow down her heart. It was too much, the speeding gallops resounding against the bones in her chest, the heat flooding her face, the sweat of her palms making the papers in her hand feel tacky. And the soft footfalls of his boots as he confidently strode away without a worry in the world.

"Philip!"

Phil turned to look back Gertie, but immediately reeled backward against the door that led out of her office. She advanced on him quicker than he had seen anyone move before. She was striding hard and fast, eyes flashing brilliantly in sparkling, dangerous anger.

"What in the world-?" the soldier barely managed to utter.

"Are you serious, chin boy?! Wait for you?! Let you just waltz away without a care?"

Bewildered, the lanky man threw up his hands, but shoved his face towards Gertrude's, intent of not starting a physical altercation, but what point was this crazy woman making?

"What is there to worry about?"

"You, you idiot! I'm worried about you! And the fact that you just asked me to wait for you. Do you even understand how serious of a question that is, but you just walk away whistling a jolly tune while you've left me wrought with panic?!"

Phil's hand left their surrender position and came between them, palms still up, trying to reason with this wild, unbridled woman that he wanted to spend his life with.

"Of course, I understand, Gertrude. I've understood all of what I've felt for you since we met!"

"Oh, so you're saying you've felt this way since we were kids?" she mocked (thinking 'because I have too).

"Yes-"

"And you think asking me to marry you-" (because I want that so badly, it scares me) "-the day before you ship out is the way to go? Like I'd wait for you like some love-sick puppydog?!" (because I will. I will wait forever for you, Phillip!).

"Jesus, Gertrude, no one asked you anything like that! Of course I don't expect you to be here like some sick dog or whatever it is you think I'm asking!" His fists were balled now, taking this rejection full force into the brunt of his soul. He was baring it to this girl, and she was throwing it in his face!

"That's exactly what would happen. I would sit here, sick! I would be sick with love, sick with worry, terrified of what could happen to you over there!"

Phil looked Heavenward, praying for patience. "Christ…." he whispered, then looked back at Gertrude and slowly enunciated every word. " nothing-is-going-to-happen-to-me"

The small blonde woman's hands shot out, shoving against his chest, pushing him away from her. "Don't talk to me like I'm a dunce, Phil. You can't guarantee that."

"Fine, I can't," he said, setting his jaw. "But I will try my best to come back to you."

Gertrude felt tears prick her eyes, and she looked away from him. Her bottom lip and voice trembled as she spoke. "This is our life, Phil. And you're so ready to just leave without even talking to me. You can't expect me to think this isn't some sort of flippant decision you've made when we've never even had a proper date." God, she was livid. "And what if you change your mind out there, hm? What do I do then?"

She pressed the pads of her fingers together as she spears the tips against her own chest. "Have you thought about me, what I want in this decision at all?"

Phil didn't understand. Of course he thought of her. He based his decisions on what he thought would make her happy, what he thought would be best for their future. He was certain that this was the best for them. She let her tears fall.

She gave a humorless laugh. "You didn't even say the most important thing."

"I lo-"

"No," she cut him off. "You don't get to say that to me now." Her voice and eyes were cold, hard like marbles as they held his.

"Get out," she whispered, and turned away, not looking back until after he had reached for her, after he pulled his hand slowly back to himself, and put his cover on, hiding the disappointment in his face and the tears in his eyes.

Gertrude spent the rest of the day going about her work in a fog. She was sure nothing got done, knew she had been rudely spoken to by a client or two, and actually been demeaned by her boss. But her mind wasn't there. She was a million miles away thinking about every possible outcome depending on her answer, if she gave him one. The young blonde was irritated when this yielded no results.

By the time she had meandered home, drifted through the door and into her favorite chair in the sitting room where a fire was blazing, crackling merrily in the fireplace, she was ready to rip out her own hair in vexation.

Gertrude's discontented sighs reached the ears of her mother before she even realized she had been making a sound. A mug of cocoa was shoved into her hands, and her mother plopped down across from her, staring hard at her daughter.

"It's that boy isn't it?"

Startled, Gertrude jumped and hummed, "Hm?"

Her mother leveled her with a withering look. "Don't you play dumb with me, Gertrude Madison. I know more than you think."

Gertrude chuffed a breath out of her nose and recanted the afternoon's events to her mother, who sat silently as she began in a quiet, meek voice, trembling with nerves and even when she ranted, pacing in an incensed anger, skillfully maneuvering the mug of cocoa out of her daughter's grasp without her even noticing. And when Gertrude was finally finished, she slumped into the plush armchair, emotionally exhausted.

A piece of wet wood popped in the fireplace before her mother spoke.

"It sounds like you're afraid."

Gertrude glared at her, fairly certain she had declared that exact piece of information to both Phil and her mother multiple times.

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Gertrude muttered. Mrs. Madison stayed silent.

"I'm not going."

Her mother took a sip out of the cup of cocoa that had barely been touched.

"And why is that?"

Gertrude clicked her tongue, annoyed. "I'm scared."

"Are you going to let fear control the decisions you make?" Her daughter's eyes flashed, displeased with the tone her mother used.

"No!" she insisted, nasty tone seeping into her speech. "I'm just trying to make a wise decision." Her fingers bent in the empty air, making quotation marks where she didn't even believe the validity of what she was saying.

"No offense, mom, but I've seen what happens when women chase after men."

Her mother's face hardened, but instead of getting mad, her mother looked...sad.

"Do you really think my life has been some sort of mistake because I loved someone? Oh, Gertrude." Her mother sounded heartbroken. And now Gertrude was confused.

Her mother was looking away now, introspective and biting her thumbnail as she simultaneously looked very far away. Her eyes continued to find that middle distance as she spoke to her daughter, telling her things that she should have long ago.

"I owe you an apology, Gertrude. I feel like I have failed you."

"How?"

A chagrined smile spread easily on Mrs. Madison's face as she took in the woman that was her daughter, looking so young and bemused at that moment that she looked very much like a little girl again—though she had looked so much older when she was a little girl.  
"My life, you...us was never a mistake. I could not be more grateful than I am. Yes, sometimes it was hard. I wished for a difference, to have your father by my side, wondered what I could have done to make that work, to make him stay." And then Gertrude saw her mother do something she had never witnessed her do. She knelt down on the ground.

Mrs. Madison kneeled before Gertrude, eyes brimming with sincerity and clasping her daughters elegant fingers between her own.

"But I never regret the decision I made."

Brown eyes searched the younger, matching pair.

"Not for a second. And yes, it was scary. I was terrified somedays that I wasn't doing what was right for you or for me. But sometimes, to find the richest things in life, you have to take a risk. They don't always come so easily, and sometimes you don't realize—even when you're eating stale bread, sewing a dress some woman threw away, wearing it the next day to call it your own, traveling to a scary new city with your daughter, wide-eyed and impressionable—how fortunate you really are."

Gertrude was silent, absorbing all her mother said. Tears had sprung from her eyes, and were also flowing freely down her mother's face. They grieved for the loss they suddenly felt, the years that they could have understood each other better, coming to fruition so much later than they wanted. But cried in relief, because here it finally was.

Mrs. Madison sniffed, her warm smile trembling as her hand cupped her daughters face. Her thumb stroked over Gertrude's cheekbone and her nails caught at the curtain of her fair hair falling about her jaw. "I have hope for you, Gertie. I hope this helps you make your decision. I hope I wasn't too late. And I hope you won't be either."

With a gentle gust of perfume, Mrs. Madison walked passed Gertrude, leaving her beside the hearth with her thoughts where sleep eventually claimed the exhausted girl.Gertrude was woken the next morning by a warm, heavy hand. It gently shook her, and she raised her head blearily. Mr. Madison stood stooped over her, quietly saying her name to draw her out of her slumber. In his other hand was her overcoat.

"What time is it?" she croaked.

"Still early enough."

"For what?" Gertie asked confused. Then as her eyes registered her coat, and the rest of her registered...well, the rest of her, how stiff she was curled up in the arm chair, the feeling of her teeth indented into the side of her cheek which was warm and red from where it rested on her hand. She shot up, looking at the clock. The first train leaves in thirty minutes. And she had to make it to the depot by then?

Her shoes had also been laid out in front of her chair.

"You'll be able to make it if you run," Mr. Madison told her, smiling knowingly.

Feeling breathless, she stared wide-eyed in wonder at her mother's husband. "How did you know?"

"Intuition?" he said, sounding as though he were joking, but she didn't find it very funny. She reckoned that it was indeed intuition that lead him to this decision, from knowing her for so many years, for being there for her, raising her...a father's intuition. And she was still surprised by it. She could laugh at herself, but she was took grateful to allow her thoughts to hover over her own density.

Gertrude quickly buckled her shoes and snatched the coat up without being unkind in manner. In her heels, she barely needed to stand on her toes to place a kiss on Mr. Madison's cheek.

"Thanks, dad."

And she was off.

Opening the door, she was almost thrown completely off balance by the gust of wind that tore through her hair and blew its way up her skirt. She braced herself and started off at a run, heels pounding into the cement. One block, two. The next she would have to make a turn.

She hit a patch of ice and careened to the side, going down hard on her knee and sliding until she eventually was stopped by the friction of shoveled, bare cement.

Gertrude hissed in pain, but leapt back into a run, hardly slowed by her injury to her knee and the cold stinging of her hands that had shot out to break her fall. Her breath puffed out in short spurts, the haze breezing passed her peripheral vision as she outran it's dispersion, that is until her pitched forward and her foot stayed behind her, breaking lose only when inertia had carried her a full pace ahead of her shoe.

"Argh!" her heel had caught in a grate and tore clean off. She paused only to inspect that what she perceived to happen was really true.

Her temper had her stamping that same shoe against the ground before shouting, "Goddamnsonofabitch!"

A passing portly man took it upon himself to regard her disdainfully and instruct her to mind her language.

Gertrude snarled "Why don't you mind you own business, fatty?"

"My word," he puffed, shaking his head, alarmed at the aggression coming from such an otherwise pretty young lady. Riffraff comes in all forms, nowadays, he supposed.

"Fuck off!" She shouted, taking off in an uneven run, gimping down the icy streets of New York City.

He was sure she would have been here by now, if she wanted to be, but maybe something happened. Maybe something held her up. He hoped she was okay. Though...she sounded awfully certain that she didn't want anything to do with him yesterday. He thought—well—he hoped that time would allow her to cool off and hopefully say yes. He honestly didn't know what to do otherwise. The thought of her and a future with her was what he was counting on to get him through this war. Without her by his side, what good was he then? Who was a hero to?

"All aboard! Train departs in 2 minutes!" He heard called out over the compressed steam hissing and the shouts of people boarding. There was a steady stream of masculine voices coming from the care behind where he stood, the sounds of his fellow soldiers, rambunctious kids ready to ship out. Most had already made their goodbyes and had families and sweethearts standing on the platform, waving kerchiefs with tears in their eyes.

"Shortman!" Phil heard from behind him. He didn't turn around, but shouted back "gimme a minute, wooja?" not even caring to look to confirm if they even heard him. He didn't care.

"One minute. Last call, all aboard" echoed in the station. He hoped she was alright. "Last call! Sir, sir!" Phil turned bewildered to the station mastered. "Last call, son. If you're boarding, you must get on the train now."

Gertrude skidded into the station look like and running like hell. She raced passed people, shouldering a few on her way, paying no regard to shouts of outrage that followed her.

What did stop her was a pimply-faced, squeaky-voiced boy who stopped her at the turnstile, shakily asking for her ticket. He looked startled, scared even by her appearance. She would later admit looking back, she probably looked quite frightening, eyes blazing and chest heaving.

"Let me pass!" she demanded.

"I'm sorry ma'am," he began, voice quavering as if it was the legs of a newborn giraffe. "But I can't let anyone pass without a ticket at this time. Last call has been issued and only passengers are allowed."

"What? What kind of malarkey are you throwing at me?! That has never been a rule! Now let me pass!"

Gertrude, not having any of it, moved to go around him, but he put his arm out to stop her...resulting in him palming her breasted.

She gasped and his hand shot back like he had touched fire, him blushing madly.

"I'm sorry ma'am," he repeated, sticking to his guns.

"But you've got to let me pass. I'm gonna lose him if I don't get there now!" she pleaded as she heard the whistle blow.

But the young man stayed firm...

"I can only allow pass-"

...until his collar was in the gloveless fists of a little, blonde crazy woman.

"Listen here, you little pipsqueak. I've eaten guys twice your size for breakfast. Normally I wouldn't even waste my time on a scrawny weakling like you, but rest assured, I will chew you up and spite you out. Now-get-out-of-my-way!" She punctuated each syllable as she pushed her nose against his.

Gertrude abruptly let go of his collar and he flew backward from leaning back so heavily. She stalked unevenly passed him and picked up her run again to get to the platform.

As she rounded onto the wood, the steam rose, and she rose to her toes in search for Phil. The whistle sounded again, two short bursts as it released the brakes.

"No," she breathed, panic rising in her throat.

Gertrude restlessly searched for Phil until she finally saw him. Rather, she saw his chin peeking out of a window.

"Phil!" Gertrude shouted, running toward the cars and waving her hands frantically. "Phil!"

In the car, Phil could only hear the sound of his comrades carrying on, but his buddy muttered, "Get a load of that." Phil didn't turn at first to see what his friend was talking about, but started at the smack to his shoulder. "What?"

"Does that belong to you?" he asked, pointing.

Phil could not believe his eyes. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. Gertrude Madison with her hair blown in every direction, tears in her stockings, mud all over the place, and a broken heel. Boy, was she ever a sight.

"Gertie!" Phil yelled leaning out the window. The train started to pick up speed. As it moved quicker and quicker, Gertrude, with hand still raised, started in a jog and eventually was running after it. Her lungs burned, her feet killed her, and her eyes stung, but the pain she couldn't bare most was him leaving without knowing how she felt.

"Phil! My answer is yes! I will wait for you!" she shouted.

"What?!" he cried back, unable to hear her over the sound of metal wheels lurching and steam pressing into the air.

He pressed a hand to his ear even though she yelled again, and she wanted to cry in frustration. Even though she was gaining ground, he couldn't hear her, especially once the rest of the soldiers started yelling out their enrouagements. They cheered for her, and Phil watched her glow as she jumped over a pile of luggage, clearing it with little effort. As his mind played in slow motion, he watched her cornflower hair float around her flushed face and the brown in her eyes burning with determination.

Gertrude was so close, but so was the end of the platform. She was aware of how quickly she was losing room to run and prepared herself to shout again, until she saw Phil's hand extended to her with a piece of paper. She reached out as she ran, finger grazing the edge of the folded note once, twice, until she had it in her grasp. She called out to him one last time, but he didn't hear her over the noise, nor could she understand the words she saw forming on his lips. A few big strides leaning back had her slowed to a stop at the edge of the platform where she stood gasping for air.

Gertrude walked all the way home until she opened the note. She gave a noncommittal grunt when her parents asked how it went, causing them to look to each other with worry.

She stood in front of her full length mirror, taking in herself and her appearance: the girl who was too much of a coward to tell the man she loved that she would wait for him. The woman that was brave enough to chase after him.

Gertrude opened the piece of paper, crumpled from where she had clenched it in her unforgiving grasp.

It read:

Private Phillip Shortman

17th Squadron

Fifth Batallion

Touraine, Fr.

She, Gertrude, had chased after a man, something she swore she would never ever do. She observed herself truly in the mirror. Her hair was askew, more than askew her hair was windblown and wild. Her stocking had a run and a hole, and her knee was turning a lovely shade of puce. Her shoes were ruined beyond repair, her back hurt from running unevenly, the palms of her hands stung with scrapes, and the mud that caked the hem of her overcoat was going to be an absolute bitch to get washed out.

All of this to wait for a man. She looked at the address again, contemplating what that all meant to her and what she wanted. She looked at herself again, the strong, crazy woman that braved the streets of New York for a man she loved. Yes, she would wait for him, she decided. She would love no other man, if he truly wanted her, because she truly wanted him. But she wasn't going to sit at home fretting, worried sick over him. She was going to experience her own life, do things that she could tell her grandkids about. **No, she wouldn't wait for him like this. Wilting in the manhattan winter, frost eating away at the edges of her petals, of her colors. She was going to be vibrant.** 'Yes,' Gertrude thought. 'I may be waiting for him, but he's waiting for me too.'

 **Hey guys! Hope that didn't take too long, but for me...as an author that's never been weekly or even close to monthly...not bad I say. . :P Also, for those of you following my other stories, I mentioned in an author's note in Why He Stayed that for some reason once I get to about 3000 words, I have to upload paragraph by paragraph. Anyone else having this issue with ? I am beside myself. It took SO LONG to upload this chapter. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter. I did some research on how to address letters to those who are deployed. I hope it's right. I also did some research on maps from 1945 as well as the map in the episode, looks like he was in Touraine, Fr. in 1945, but who knows where he was stationed altogether.**


	7. Why're you screaming I do! I do?

"I'm sorry, uh-"

Gertrude stopped her story to look over at Helga. "Yeah, I don't follow. What do you mean wait for you? I mean, you married 'im, so that's obviously not the end of that story."

Gertrude laughed quietly and gently elbowed Helga in the arm.

"The point is: opportunities can be missed all the time. You can't let fear stand in the way of a connection. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Helga looked away, silent.

"Well you can stay up late, I know how you young kids are, partying till all hours, but this old lady's got to get some shut eye."

Helga huffed a laugh through her nose. "Sounds like a plan Grandma. I was just gonna head up back to bed too."

Gertrude's hands grasped Helga's shoulders and pulled her into a hug, "Give Arnold a kiss for me?"

"S-s-sure thing," Helga stammered.

Gertrude patted her gently on the cheek, "Good girl."

Helga padded her way back into Arnold's bedroom, overwhelmed by how loud the silence was, engulfing her in the stillness with only Arnold's breath rhythmically breaking through. She approached the bed in slow, measured movements, careful not to wake Arnold. She looked down at him, judging herself and him, their relationship, and how she was going to climb back into his arms.

Would he wake up and push her away? The emotions had been thick in the air last night, driving them to reach out to one another, but now, waking sobered from sleep, would he pull her close? Would he crave her presence and touch as she did his?

Sigh.

Only one way to find out.

The heels of her hands found the mattress, pressing down and supporting her as her knees scooted along the length of it, one swinging over Arnold's knees.

He stirred, and she held her breath, as he breathed in a broken yawn and stretched.

A large hand came down and rested on her knee. His eyes were still closed, but his thumb pad was driving her mad with soft strokes.

"You okay?" he asked hoarsely, his already mellow voice drowned in the haziness of sleep, deepening to a raspy, throaty sound.

"Yeah," she whispered, preserving the hushed tone of the room.

His whole hand moved up and down her thigh in a comforting gesture, one she was sure Arnold didn't mean to make sexual, but being the magnetic man he was, she couldn't help the embers that burned beneath his touch.

"Where did you go?" he questioned as she gently rolled onto her side of the bed and scooched under the covers. His hand searched for her and eventually he cracked open one eye, regarding her as she came closer, allowing him to finally find the curve of her waist and pull her to him.

"I just needed some water," she said in a soothing tone.

He breathed a sound of understanding.

"Did she trap you?" he asked. She muffled a laugh as her heart swelled, and it came out as a snicker. God, he knew his family well.

"No," she murmured, sighing in contentment as her face fit into the crook of his throat again, "She didn't trap me. She helped me find a cup and then we talked a little. Don't worry."

He sighed this time, his warm breath washing over the top of her head and his body melted into hers. Man, she wished she could snapshot this moment.

"Okay," he said, closing his eye and shuffling into her.

Missed opportunities.

Now that was an understatement.

Helga was proud of herself for not pushing him away here, but she . her lifetime with the flaxen-haired angel that she couldn't almost forgot that they were even opportunities. She saw them as never-ending blows to her soul, something that she would always have to fight, no matter what. Arnold was an unattainable man for the likes of her, but wow. The torture she suffered at his unbeknownst hand, and all because she was a coward.

She couldn't banish the memory of their last close encounter, one that if she read differently seemed like an expression of interest from him….maybe if she were any other girl. But she wasn't any other girl. She was Helga G. Pataki, and he would never again look at her the way he did that night.

 _The reception space was tastefully decorated._

" _I'm pretty impressed," Rhonda said breezily, looking around as she sipped on one of the specialty wedding cocktails.  
Helga tried not to take immediate offense to the self-appointed fashonista (who actually was a clothing designer...so apparently that title fit now) tone, but still ground out, "Why do you sound so surprised?"_

 _Rhonda of course paid no heed to the way the question was posed, but only answered. "Well, not so surprised. Phoebe and Gerald have both always been stylish in their own individual ways, but of course_ I _don't always see eye to eye with them when it comes to fashion, but this wedding has been the most tasteful of which I have ever had the privilege to attend."_

 _It was true. Helga was thankful for the classic beauty of the wedding her best friend had decided upon, keeping the colors red and black. That forgiving detail alone allowed Helga to wear a buttery black halter gown instead of any gaudy, shiny fabric that wouldn't know flattering if it bit it on the ass. The cut clasped behind her neck and hugged her shoulder blades, leaving the expanse of her back open to just above the dimples of her hips while the front had a modest plunge. It was probably the most flattering dress Helga had ever worn. Wasn't there a saying when it came to taking attention away from the bride?_

 _Helga let an unladylike snort find its way out of her. As if anyone could look away from Phoebe for a second, let alone for_ her _. She was absolutely stunning in a wedding kimono, with the outer robe a white silk, and inner obis gradient shades of red to cherry blossom pink. Instead of a headdress, her hair was pulled back into a sweeping updo, decorated with delicate pins and flowers that had been hidden under her head dress before the reception. Gerald had worn a classic tuxedo, though he insisted to Phoebe he would wear traditional garb, but she had kindly reminded him that it was his wedding too._

" _Well," he had replied, "My wedding's gonna have a DJ and tons of dancing." His then-fiancee had agreed. Phoebe herself seemed to be having a great time dancing with her new husband on the dance floor, surrounded by the people who they have stayed friends with longer than Helga would have ever imagined. 'I mean, really...the fact that Sid was in the wedding party makes my head spin. Whatever, I am staying well away from that hardwood where our friends of twenty plus years are busy making fools of themselves. In the mean time: food,' she thought to herself._

 _The cake had already been cut, and with all of the slices available to guests there was also a fairly wide range of dessert options, ranging from cheesecake to the crowning glory that Helga was beelining toward: the four-teared chocolate fountain...next to which a smaller man with greasy black hair was eyeing the confection with poorly veiled temptation._

" _Oh, Chocolate Boy. What's up?" Helga greeted boisterously, giving an aggressive head nod. The man's face instantly contorted into a frown that he leveled at the blonde._

" _I told you not to call me that! I haven't eaten chocolate in almost 15 years."_

 _Helga faltered slightly, but not visibly, instantly recovering. "Yeah, well, old habits and all that. Been calling you that since I've known you. Sorry. Anyway,_ Eric _," (Man that sounds weird) "Having a good time?"_

 _Helga nearly gagged at her own small talk when he leveled her with a disdaining look and turned to walk away._

" _Yeah, well. Not like we have much in common to talk about, buddy boy," she muttered under her breath. It was just as well that he left. Savoring the smooth sweetness of the chocolate fountain in front of that guy would be like getting drunk in front of an alcoholic. Not her problem, but she'd still feel weird enough that she wouldn't be able to enjoy herself._

 _Now, what do dip? Strawberries were obviously out of the question...the marshmallows seemed like an odd choice...thank the stars there were some other berries: raspberries should go well, oh, and blueberries, kiwis._

 _The choices of fruit that were available to her were small and bite sized, and even with the skewer, it was messy work. By the time she had a few choco-fruit kabobs ready to be ingested, she had licked her fingers once or twice to get any remaining chocolate off, careful of her meticulously applied make up._

 _Satisfied with her current level of spoils, Helga turned to find a seat at a table instead of hovering over the confections like a vulture only to meet the green eyes of Arnold._

 _In his hands, he held two glasses of red wine and on his face he sported a—in Helga's opinion—ridiculously goofy smile, one typically sported by people who were a little more than buzzed._

 _His wide smile shifted into one of mild chagrin as his gaze dropped to her hands._

" _Here I was trying to be a nice guy and offer you some wine, but you have your hands full with chocolate!" he lamented with blooming humor._

 _Helga scoffed. "There's these things that were invented a little while ago; they're called tables. If we can find one, I can put my plate down and accept your humble offering." She was more than comfortable playing along with joking banter between the two of them. Often, their conversations devolved into such an interaction._

" _Will this one please the madam?" Arnold asked, raising his eyebrows and holding the glasses of sloshing liquid ahead of him, using them to gesture towards a hightop table. No chairs, but it would serve the purpose of relieving them of their tasty burdens._

" _I suppose," she said, pretending to sound waspy and aloof._

 _Arnold laughed at their antics, and for once, she didn't feel so self conscious about laughter in her direction, at least not when she was purposefully inciting it...just like when she did impressions at the Coco Hut._

 _Helga thanked Arnold for the wine, grateful that Phoebe again made (too many, in her opinion) concessions for her, double checking that none of the fruit drinks had strawberry in them. Silence began to stretch, aided by the near deafening beats pulsing from the speakers._

" _Gerald and Phoebe," Arnold started, pausing to take a sip. "Who would have ever guessed."_

 _Helga rolled her eyes as she pulled a piece of fruit off the end of a skewer. "Literally anyone, Arnoldo."_

" _Seriously?" Arnold asked, gaping slightly._

" _Yeah, seriously. Come_ on _, football head. Those two have been crazy about each other since we were kids! You can't tell me you never noticed." She took another bite and then took a sip of whatever red blend was in her glass, letting the flavors of the fruit, chocolate, and wine mingle. Mmm._

" _Well, yeah, once they_ started _dating, it made sense, but before I never really noticed. But, I guess I've never been good at that?"_

" _Mr. Sensitive-To-Everyone's-Feelings never noticed how totally enamored his best friend was with_ my _best friend?"_

 _Arnold shrugged, taking a sip of his own wine and making a harsh sound as he swallowed a little too quickly, wanting to reply immediately._

" _Well, no. But I've never been good with that type of thing. I'm usually oblivious to people's subtle clues when it comes to romantic interest. Heck, I can never even tell when a girl's hitting on_ me _."_

 _Helga didn't look at him, focused as she was in moving a berry up to a reachable area of her skewer with her tongue, trying not to get chocolate on her face._

 _She did find time to sneer at him once the tart, sweet treat was in her mouth. "Ugh, of course you don't. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?"_

" _I can imagine," he conceded, smiling and supporting his face in his own hand, cheekbone to heel, as he regarded her in a half-lidded gaze that she tried to ignore and not squirm under. "Is there something I should know, since I frustrate you so much."_

 _Helga sputtered around the sip of wine, the sharp blow of air from her nose splattering some of it against the smoothly curved glass it rested in._

" _I never said_ you _frustrate me, football face. Just the sheer density, which I have encountered with other guys, is frustrating."_ Stellar save, Helga, real smooth.

" _Mmm," he hummed in assent, leaning towards her, voice low and teasing as his eyebrows raised. "And I'm sure you're just an expert in reading people's body language."_

" _Probably better at it than you," Helga retorted in a clipped tone._

" _You've never been oblivious to someone's attentions?" he asked skeptically._

 _Helga scoffed in what she hoped sounded less bitter than she felt, "What attentions? Please, if I have a 'someone' that I have somehow been ignoring, enlighten me."_

 _Then Helga jerked back, Arnold suddenly having stepped close and in her personal space. She leaned away, but was stopped by his large, warm hand, spread across her lower back._

 _A blush blossomed on her cheeks, red and possibly spreading to her ears as his eyes locked onto her mouth, a lazy smiled playing on his lips. Arnold licked his own and ('dear_ God') _bit his lip as his face drifted closer._

 _The DJ was yelling something, this voice blaring over the speakers, but it all faded away, the loudest thing in the room was the blood pounding in her own ears. Arnold raised a hand and brought his thumb pad to her bottom lip, dragging it along the slack oral muscle. Arnold's eyes were on hers as he painstakingly slowly made this movement. A breath escaped her slightly open mouth in a pant and she felt herself rock towards him._

 _As he pulled his hand away and revealed his thumb to her gaze, she noted the brown smear of chocolate. Oh._

 _Reality started to come back gradually until she heard the DJ calling out again, this time she realized he was thanking the guests for coming, congratulating the couple, and calling for a speech...from the best man...who was standing right in front of her._

 _Helga immediately felt embarrassed for even considering that Arnold had been coming onto her when he was simply wiping her mouth off, but she could have sworn she saw it. But...no, she must have been mistaken, she thought, color reaching down her neck now in embarrassment._

 _Arnold, however, didn't seem to be rushing up to the DJ stand to take the mic. Instead, he brought his thumb to his lips and opened his mouth, pushing the digit into it and closing his lips around it. He sucked the chocolate right off, keeping eye contact with Helga and there it was again, the thing she swore she saw. Unmistakable: the heat in his eyes and Helga heard herself let out a whimper._ Oh, God, he heard me. That's why he's smiling like that.

 _Arnold withdrew his thumb from him mouth and fixed her with a grin. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."_

 _Then he was gone, jogging up to where the microphone was being held out to him, just in time for the bride and groom to sit at the head table._

 _Helga's heart was hammering in her chest as he started his speech, sincere and not at all corny like most speeches made by best mans._

" _Cheers to the happy couple!" he finished, raising his glass to invite everyone in a toast. "May we all be lucky enough to realize when The One is right in front of us."_

 _Arnold's eyes locked with Helga's._

 **sigh...I love Arnold being flirty :D hope you guys did too!**


	8. Stupid, Football-Headed Snowman

_Dear Philip,_

 _The arctic wilderness is as beautiful as it is hostile. I never could have imagined a bitter cold that could make me long for the wind that tears down New York in the winter or the chill seeped into our bones when times were hard during the depression. I thank my stars for my dogs. The crack of my whip slicing through the air misses them physically, but spurs them on tirelessly on this mission, and though they often dig into the snow to protect themselves from the harsh winds, they always allow me to steal their warmth. I rely on them more than I have ever relied on another living soul._

 _I wish I could show you the majesty of the sun cutting through the skies to shine down upon the ice and snow, flanked by tall, gaunt pines and mountain faces that are bigger than I could ever imagine. The wind howls, but the snow is quiet. It has been one week since a single message of "S-O-S" streamed from the missionary post. There are days left still of my journey. Pray that I find them all well or, at the very least, I can lend them the aid they need. Two more dog teams await my signal._

 _The thought of our Christmases together warms me, keeps me calm amongst my anxiety, when all else I can feel is the wind biting at my face and all I can hear is the panting of my dogs, their claws digging into the packed snow, and the endless rasp of my sled as we streak across the land. Though my eyes burn and my throat is horse from my calls, I cannot stop. I only hope that thoughts of us bring you such comfort._

 _Yours Truly,_

 _Gertie_


	9. Oh Give Me a Home Where the Buffalo Roam

_Dear Philip,_

 _I have traveled south on my way to my next mission, but have been sidetracked in duties, though I think anyone in need of assistance deserves my help. I needed to disembark from my train in Utah, and travel to a different depot where I could catch my next train to Mexico. Along the way I found a group of real cowpokes, driving their cattle. Their final destination was Waco, but they were unable to move forward as one of their riders had a nasty fall and hit his head. Luckily, they had traveled a little heavy with a wagon to transport some other goods along the way. I made up my mind to help them the moment I heard their story. Not only could I help medically, but I am a hard worker. So that's exactly what I found myself doing. We wake at dawn and drive the cattle at a brisk pace. It was harder to learn cattle herding when one hasn't even ever properly ridden a horse, and no, I'm not counting the pony at the fair. It was a steep learning curve, but I manage. At night when we rest, the men make food while I tend to their fallen comrade, a man they call Tex. Nursing him back to health took its time, but he was able to regain consciousness by the time we reached town and is now I assume in the hands of a fine physician._

 _Are their any injuries for you and your platoon? I hope everyone is safe._

 _Yours,_

 _Gertie_


	10. Eat Everything You Kill

_Dear Philip,_

 _The vast jungles of the Amazon are endless. Our mission troop is lucky to have such wonderful guide, Kimba, that know even the ever changing water ways in order to get us to our remote destinations where sickness has overrun the endemic peoples. I don't know if you would believe the wide array of animals here, especially at first glance. But if you stand still long enough, you can feel the forest move around you. We have had one or two run ins with danger since our arrival, though very different in nature. Our first few days in the jungle, I swear all I was learning was what things to avoid, what things could and would kill me. Nothing to me was as terrifying to hear about or witness was not the infamously feared piranha, but army ants. They cover the forest ground and overtake anything alive or dead. Animals are stripped of flesh in an instant. My one encounter, again thanks to our wonderful guides, resulted in no injuries for me or any of my party, but not everyone who ventures into the jungle is as lucky. The other danger was actually of the human variety. Thieves often follow troupes of "adventurers", hoping to happen upon their riches or goods. Apparently myself and the other ladies of the Order of the Sacred Heart and our Priest look very much like adventurers one would read about in The Inca Emerald. Believe it or not (and don't tell my mother I say this, for as a devout Catholic I think she would shudder at the thought of me saying something so blasphemous), but I think the forest is alive, with a spirit as real as any. It protected us that day, for just as the fiends overwhelmed us, what would save us but the shadow of the Amazon, a great jaguar. It descended from the canopy to stand between us and the thieves. They were chased away, but it did not come back for us. A truly magnificent guardian follows me to this day._

 _I hope that you have someone watching over you to keep you safe._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Gertrude_


	11. Not Watermelon Again, Pookie!

_Dear Philip,_

 _It is with great apprehension I take my next step in my journey. The Order of the Sacred Heart is sending me to the Orient for missionary work, which means we are crossing the great Pacific on a boat. Our final destination is not known to us, as they try to maintain the secrecy for our safety. We will be transported on a civilian cargo vessel. I can't say much more, but I only hope that the Japanese maintain the agreement to not harm civilian boats._

 _Please stay safe,_

 _Gertrude_


	12. Was That Before or After Tibet?

**A/N I do not own! And I make no inferences to the personality, acts, or actual person that is Hedy Lamarr. She is mainly in the story briefly to take into account Phil's references from the show, Hey Arnold!. I don't know if I need this disclaimer, but I don't want to offend her family, as she is was a brilliant lady and influenced much of our technology we have today!**

"Wow," Arnold breathed leafing through the old, yellowed pages scribed with his grandmother's writing. Helga was leaning in her chair to view the items he held over his lap.

"So you guys just wrote back and forth for years?" she asked.

Grandpa gave a sidelong glance. "Well, not exactly," he muttered. "I never could write her back."

"What? Why not?"

"Well 'cause she was all over the world all the time, and so was I!" Phil explained. "Eventually, right before my secret assignment where I won Battle of the Bulge single-handedly, she sent me her last letter and disappeared."

"That's not exactly how I remember it," Gertrude asserted.

 _January 1946_

 _Phil certainly hadn't thought this press handler person-whatever-he-was was serious when they said_ anybody _. He remembered stumbling forward from the solid slap between his shoulder blades and trying not to cough as the force jarred air from his lungs._

" _Well, Steely Phil, it looks like you were a war hero, after all!" Phil could't help the laugh that sounded a lot like a concussive release of air as he received another hard slap to the back._

" _Well, I certainly am happy to have served my country."_

" _Sure, sure, son. When you accept your award, who do you want present. Name anyone, we can get 'em. Even someone like Hedy Lamarr!"_

 _Phil spat out his drink and crowed, "Like Hedy Lamarr?" He had laughed heartily as he said it, not even taking it at all seriously as he sipped a whiskey in the hazy air of the bar where his commanding officer and the newsperson were buttering him up...not that he minded. He had wanted the hero treatment, hadn't he? The war was over at this point, and he was on his hero's tour, traveling and meeting all sorts of people, politicians, celebrities,_ the President of the United States _, and really kind of doing whatever he wants. And he was going to milk it for whatever it was worth. He didn't have much opportunity to travel beyond his deployment and he would eventually have to go back to the boarding house._

 _Sure, he was fine with his inheritance and his roll, but something was missing. Truthfully, if he thought about it—and he_ had _thought about it—he wanted really only_ one _person present there..._

 _but it was damn hard to think about that that was with those eyes with sharply curved eyebrows pinning him to the spot...speaking of curves…now that you mention it, those_ other _gentle curves threw him in all sorts of mental tail spins._

 _Here he was, standing in front of a bronze statue of himself and one of_ the _most beautiful women in the world was holding him down with a quirk of one eyebrow and the shape of her cupid's bow._

" _Hello, Steely Phil. It is a pleasure to meet you."_

 _'Woo! Was it chilly out here or what? Oh right, it's July. That couldn't have just been her voice that had those chills runnin' up my spine.' Phil thought to himself, but sure enough, this goddess continued to speak to him; he continued to shudder._

 _Phil's attention left the bombshell briefly as a CHAM representative scuttled forward, handing him a can of CHAM and shaping his arm to hold it in an imitation of the statue beside him._

 _Mr. Wise in quipping in his city-slick cadence instructed, "Now look at the camera, Phil. Get cozy!"_

 _'Cozy?' Phil thought._

 _A dainty hand with beautifully varnished nails found the crook of his other elbow while a soft chest pressed gently against his upper arm. He felt the heat rise in his face as Hedy slipped up to his side and murmured, "Don't forget to smile, Steely Phil."_

 **War Hero Honored: Steely Phil Dedication in DC**

 _The English newspapers were sent to the Abbey for those waiting word from the war. Many of the sisters had graceful sighs of relief and silent prayers to God in thanks for the preservation of life._

 _One postulant however, flung the newspaper at the fountain in the courtyard and watched the leafs separate and flutter to the ground. She buried her head in her hands and angry tears threatened to spill._

" _Sister Gertrude, what is the meaning of this?"_

 _Gertie raised her head quickly, sniffing away her emotions and trying with all her might not to wipe her nose on her habit sleeve._

" _I-" she stuttered. "I'm sorry, Mother Superior. I...saw a spider. I was startled."_

 _The elder woman raised an eyebrow. "Be sure this mess is clean soon, please."_

" _Of course, Mother Superior. My apologies."_

 _Mother Superior hummed in a skeptical manner, but carried on, leaving her young postulant to her own devices._

 _With a heaving sigh, Gertrude hauled herself to her feet and began collecting the leaves of paper. Some of the pieces had made their way into the fountain, and she pushed her sleeve up to retrieve them._

" _Very scandalous, Sister Gertie," she heard a chiming voice call from across the courtyard. There a postulant very much like herself leaned against one of the many pillars of the great monastery. She pushed herself upright from the stone and came to look over Gertrude's shoulder._

 _Seeing the headline, a fox-like smile came onto her face._

" _A fan of of Hedy, are you?"_

 _Gertrude rolled her eyes, slapping the now wet papers onto the chest of her companion. "Not in the slightest."_

 _As Gertrude tucked her hands in front of her body and attempted to gracefully walk away, the other woman took a glance at picture on the front page and called out, "Oh wow,_ who _is this_ dashing _young soldier next to her?"_

 _Gertrude tripped over the hem of her habit, turning with ruddy cheeks to her friend. "Sissy!" she complained._

 _Priscilla, a girl who hid her lustrous brunette hair and svelte figure underneath her nun's habit, waved the newspaper in front of Gertrude face as she came closer trying to snatch it out of the air._

" _He's nobody," Gertrude declared._

 _Sissy's dark eyebrows went up into her Coif and she laughed deep in her throat. "Oh, I think that's not true at all. You shall spill to me, Gertrude Madison."_

 _Gertrude breathed in sharply, looked back and forth along the courtyard and hallways for senior sisters._

" _Not here," she hissed._

 _Sissy rolled her eyes, but understanding the need for discretion, grasped Gertrude's wrist and tugged her towards the quarters._

 _Once she had her blonde friend in her room, Sissy closed the heavy wooden door behind her and shoved the newspaper back in Gertude's chest._

" _Now_ tell _!" Sissy demanded._

" _Priscilla, you are simply the_ worst _," Gertrude declared._

 _Sissy neatly removed her habit and let her dark hair spill over her shoulders. "Yeah, yeah," she conceded. "I'm still waiting for your explanation. Or do you even have to tell me."_

 _Gertrude stubbornly thinned her lips and kept silent, considering whether she really wanted to recognize the feelings she felt. Prissy made herself comfortable leaning against Gertrude's desk, peering down from the window onto the streets of Shanghai. She waited._

 _Gertrude heaved a larger than necessary sigh, readying herself for thoughts she tried not to think for the last half year._

" _His name is Phil-" Gertrude started slowly. Sissy was tempted to tell her his name was common knowledge as it was on the front page of the newspaper at least ten times, but she was merciful for a change. Instead, she merely nodded._

" _We were...childhood friends."_

 _Priscilla quirked a brow. "Just childhood friends?"_

" _Technically?" Gertrude pondered aloud. "He asked me to...wait for him?" Sissy suddenly became much more focused, and Gertie found herself waving her off with both hands, rushing a continued explanation. "Nothing ever came of it though!"_

 _Sissy glanced at the photograph—which had become darker with moisture, but was still intact—and adopted a thoughtful look on her face. Her eyebrows drew together and she questioned, "Why not?"_

 _Gertrude slowly sank down to sit on her bed, hands folded in her lap and her gaze upon them, feeling pretty bad about herself._

" _I don't know," she admitted. "I guess...he forgot about me. He didn't ever return my letters, even when I told I'd be here until further notice, a place he could reach me."_

 _Priscilla crossed the room to where her friend sat dejected on her small bed, taking her by the shoulders. "Now come on! There's no way he forgot about you. I'm sure something happened, I'm sure there's an explanation!"_

 _Gertrude made no move to shrug out of her friend's grasp, even when the fellow postulant shook her by the shoulders. She let her head loll to the side as she avoided initially avoided the intense cobalt gaze. Grudgingly, she leveled her with a sideways glare._

" _It doesn't matter, now, does it?" she asked semi-rhetorically. "We are postulants at the Church of the Sacred Heart in damned_ Shanghai _!"_

 _Gertrude felt her body shaking again and with more muster as if her friend were attempted to shake her brain lose. "Of course it_ matters _," Priscilla insisted vehemently._

" _How?" Gertrude asked skeptically, still feeling beyond melancholic, the inner flame that was her temper having burnt crazy and hot, now doused under the pressure of the sea of misery that threatened to engulf her._

 _Priscilla straightened herself and went to replace her habit. With a furtive gaze, she affixed it saying, "I guess we shall see. Not like you're ever one for following the rules, anyway." With that, she sauntered out of the room, calling out, "Oh, by the way you're late."_

 _Left alone, Gertrude scoffed after her friend who knew her too well and lifted her mattress. She dug under it and pulled out her white gi._

 _June 1946_

 _The sun was hidden by storm clouds when Phil finally stepped off the boat and into the hustle and bustle of the port in Shanghai. It made it hot and sticky, and he could feel the sweat trickling down his back and making his shirt cling to his skin. He took in his surroundings. He wasn't sure what he had expected, maybe something less modern. Indeed, there were some older looking buildings, but alongside traditional signage were very-American-like advertisements, some even featuring white women, even a large clock tower and capitol building that held the same architecture as those back home. Sleek cars drove in the streets along bicycles and rickshaws, and somehow he was supposed to make heads or tails out of this to find the hotel Mr. Wise had set him up in._

 _Removing his hat, he brought a folded paper out of it, unfolded and spun it twice in order to get it facing the right direction. It was a hand-drawn map to the location with the address sprawled in barely legible ink along the bottom. Hat still in hand and map in the other, Phil scratched the back of his head and studied the map, mumbling to himself._

 _He felt his temper rising as frustration itched at the back of his skull. Why? Why had he let Mr. Wise talk him into this?_

 _Well, the hopes were to have some Ally war heroes make appearances and help build up Shanghai again after Japanese occupation, he knew that well enough. It had taken a while to organize; Japan had surrendered some months ago now, and he had been touring other places, speaking with other vets, families of those who had fallen or been injured, and trying to do his best to serve his country. Heck he hadn't even been back to the boarding house, but he had phoned his sister to inquire, and she had stated that it was still standing vacant after the death of their father and her subsequent refusal to watch over the property._

" _Rest assured, Philly, your true destiny awaits you here for when you return from playing soldier" her voice had taunted._

 _He meandered in the general direction of the small hotel, map out and unfolded in his hand. He lopped across the street, pausing to twirl out of the way of a rickshaw and three bicycles, only to back step in front of a car. A few shouts followed him, while also being directed at the driver who drove when it wasn't his turn, but he made it safely across the street._

 _Phil's route hugged the buildings as he heard thunder overhead and hoped to keep dry under overhangs. He had been stuck on the ship the day before in the storm, and he was sick of the rain already, knowing it would—you'll excuse the expression—put a damper on things for the next few days in terms of planned events. What were of the odds of finding his way before he got totally drenched?_

 _No sooner had the thought crossed his mind did the sky open up and sheets of rain soaked the streets, roads, and people. He shoved his map into his pocket roughly and sprinted for the nearest overhang. He saw it on the street corner a block up and across the street, and as he ran past a corner, he collided with someone._

 _They both fell to the ground, the other person on their front and he on his right side in a nice gutter puddle._

" _Aw nuts!" Phil shouted now with his whole backside and much of the ride side of his shirt wet, not to mention dirty._

" _Phil?"_

 _He looked up to the person who ran into him who wore a large coat with the collar pulled high and a hat pulled down over their features, in the process of standing up and stumbling slightly. The feminine voice hissed in pain, but proceeded to talk. "What the hell are you doing here?!"_

 _That feminine voice, he knew anywhere, but it couldn't be…_

 _The right arm attached to his bumper buddy shot out to his collar and hoisted Phil up, resulting strained protesting vocalization from him. He complied, not that he had much of a choice. For such a small woman, she was strong. The rough treatment, the language, the voice...just about confirmed it._

" _Gertie?" he yelped when she brought him into the small, dark space afforded by the entryway of the building. It seemed either closed or deserted for their was no sounds coming from behind the door, and not one passerby even bothered to give it a cursory glance._

" _Shh!" she hissed at him, pressing a hand to his mouth. "Not so loud!" Gertrude's brown eyes shifted back and forth, and she even took a moment to look over her shoulder._

 _Phil's eyebrows drew together and he attempted to speak, resulting in muffled noises behind her hand. She gave him a somewhat appraising glance, then slowly removed her hand from his mouth and her body, which had been pressed close to his in attempt to be discrete in their location, from his person. "What? You bein' followed or something?"_

 _Gertrude leveled him with a deadpan look, but her voice gave away some nervousness. "Not exactly. I just...I'm not supposed to be out here, and definitely not dressed like this. I would be in deep sh-...trouble if I was caught."_

 _Phil looked puzzled. "Why?"_

" _I'd rather not say right now," Gertrude hedged, but then leveled him with a piercing gaze. "What about you? You never answered my question: what are you doing here?"_

 _Phil raised his chin haughtily, "What if I would rather not say?"_

" _I'd make you," Gertrude quipped quickly, though it sounded rather like she was pouting._

 _Phil didn't see any more reason to tease her and instead finally answered, "Some post-war work, you know." It was vague, but truly, he didn't know exactly what his roll was going to be here exactly. Not a lot of Americans here to encourage. He continued. "I'm staying at this hotel-"_

 _He reached into his pocket at that moment, the pocket, he had forgotten, had become completed soaked in the fall. Phil gasped and brought the soggy mess of the map out of his pocket, noting that the general shapes were intact, but the ink of the address had run into a black, inky mess._

" _Dag nabbit!" he yelled, then produced it to Gertrude for her to examine. "Well, this was supposed to be where I was staying. I don't even know what the place is called and none of the other fellas are there."_

" _What about the guy who booked it?" Gertrude asked, trying to find something legible on the "map" he had given her._

" _Supposed to meet him there, his idea. I guess it would have been too easy to put me up in the same hotel as the other vets. Nope, had to let myself get roped into this 'authentic experience' malarky." Gertrude smiled sympathetically at his exasperation._

 _The rain that had started so heavily had reduced itself to the last few fat drops falling at sparse intervals. Gertrude looked out from under their overhang, and told Phil haltingly, "I have an idea, if you're up for it."_

 _He waited for her to elaborate, which she did after her assessment of the weather. "You can stay with me, but just...you have to be quiet," then after a short pause added, "and stay out of sight," another short pause, then again demanding, "and listen to me, no matter what. I'm not supposed to have a man in my lodgings so you'll have to lay low. Can you do that?"_

" _Sure," he agreed, though his tone remained dubious._

 _Gertrude lead him to a large building, with three towers affixed with crosses, large archways, and masterful stonework. They stopped at the outer skirts of the property where Gertrude watched for signs of movement around the doors and archways._

" _You brought me to a church? I knew you always wanted to marry me. Should we get a witness?" Phil teased. Gertrude promptly socked him none-to-gently in the arm._

" _Shut up," she groused scathingly at him as he tried to laugh through the pain of a dead arm. "Come on," she ordered, leading him through a heavy wooden door, swiftly up a flight of stairs, and behind another door into what he assumed was her room. There was a small bed, a desk, and another small door, which was a most likely a closet. She latched the door behind them, warning him that she couldn't keep it that way all the time, but typically no one entered one of the dorms with a shut door without knocking._

 _Now within the privacy of her own dwelling, she removed her hat and her coat, revealing the white gi and black belt that secured it._

 _Phil snorted in laughter and asked, "What's with the get up?"_

" _It's my gi, a uniform worn to practice the art of kung fu," Gertrude scowled._

" _I didn't know churches had kung fu schools."_

" _They don't, I-"_

 _They heard a knock at the door._

" _Just one moment!" Gertrude called out, wordlessly and aggressively gesturing for Phil to get in the closet. A knock came again._

" _I am not decent!" Gertie called out, whispering fiercely for Phil to hand her what looked to be a dark dress and a head scarf? Without any preamble, her gi swiftly came up and over her head. Phil saw a glimpse of her bound chest before his face was covered by the fabric of her gi that had been thrown at him, and by the time he had pulled it down from his eyes, the dress was over her head and covering her body. She secured her head covering over the telling wet hair as she went to the door._

 _Gertrude swiped her hand in a wild motion for him to shut the closet door. Through the muffled wood he heard her speaking to someone, a mature, much older voice, someone cooly informing her it was time for supper. She told them she would be down momentarily, and they seemed to accept that well enough._

 _After he heard the door close, Phil cautiously opened the closet to see Gertrude leaning against the door, looking exhausted._

 _She exhaled to herself, "The stress is going to kill me, I just know it."_

 _He stepped out of the closet fully, registering what she wore for the first time. "You're a nun?" he almost yelled._

" _Shut up," she hissed, looking toward the door again. No sound came from behind it, no new foot falls or voices. "I'm a postulant. Not a nun yet."_

 _Phil reached back and scratched the back of his head. "Well, shit."_

" _Please watch the language, Phillip," Gertrude sighed. "You're in a church."_

 _Phil smirked and crossed his arms, "Never stopped you."_

 _Gertrude flushed._

" _Yeah, well. I'm trying to break the habit, and you talking like that'll get me right back into it." Phil shrugged._

" _Fair enough. I'll try. No promises, though."_

 _Switching gears, Gertrude scooted past him to get to the closet, rummaging around in it as she spoke to him. "Okay, so, the plan..."_

" _The plan," Phil echoed indicating he was paying attention._

" _Plan is to call the fellow you're supposed to be meeting in the morning. You have his contact number, right?" Phil's eyebrows drew together, not at her question, but at his own answer._

" _Well, I have his office number who has his contact number here, well, at least they should. I'll have to phone them to get it."_

" _Alright. I figure we work on that in the morning." She paused to hold up a pair of pants in the air, eyeballing their length compared to his that of his legs. She then tossed them on the bed. Apparently they passed inspection. "In the mean time, I have to go to supper, I'll try to bring you back some food. I should be able to, it's never been a problem before, but it'll look really weird if I bring back a whole meal for a grown man to eat. I'll try to save you most of mine. Here, take these; they should be more comfortable to sleep in than what you're wearing."_

 _Gertrude handed him the pants she had previously set aside and what looked to be a Japanese haori. "Left over from the war," she gave as explanation when he raised a brow, but he remained skeptical of that, though he did not mention it again._

 _Then as if she just realized it, "Did you not bring any clothes?"_

" _I did. They're at the hotel. I sent them ahead of me yesterday since I was feeling under the weather."_

" _Ah." Then an awkward paused enveloped them. It was getting darker. The storm clouds hadn't rolled away, just hung lazily over the city and it was nearly time for sunset. She told him matches were on her desk next to an oil lamp and some tall candles, depending on the amount of light needed. The glow shouldn't be visible from under the door, she told him, and then she went out the door, promising to be back._

" _Make yourself at home, I'll be back soon."_

 _oooooooooooo_

 _Gertrude rushed down the hall, the soles of her shoes making scuffing noises echo off the stone walls. As she passed a corridor, a hand shot out and grabbed her by the elbow. She yelped in surprise as she was pulled into the corridor, but then her reaction quickly turned to anger as she came face-to-face with a smirking Sissy._

" _You certainly made a late arrival to dinner," she observed with a knowing smile._

 _Gertrude narrowed her eyes and leaned toward her friend, whispering, "Yes, you know I had training today at the dojo."_

" _Training your voice?"_

" _What do you mean?"_

 _The tall brunette slowly circled the smaller woman, taking measured and indulgent steps with her hands clasped behind her back. "Funny that it would sound like a_ man's _voice was coming from behind your door. I could have sworn we took a took a Conversion of Life Vow."_

 _Gertrude snapped quietly at her, "We haven't taken the oaths yet."_

" _Oh-ho!" Sissy laughed, crossing her arms triumphantly and shimmying her shoulders slightly. "So you_ do _have a man in there."_

 _Gertrude pushed Sissy against the wall further into the corridor and glared at her friend when she felt her smile stretch against the palm of her hand._

" _Okay, okay," Gertrude finally conceded. With her lips thinned in a grim, threatening line, she lowered her hand carefully, ensuring she could replace it if Priscilla decided to open her yap again._

 _But Sissy stood there, still grinning, not at all threatened by the little blonde postulant. She looked like a cat who caught the canary. Gertrude sulked, crossing her arms and tilting her head back with a sigh. She closed her eyes in exasperation._

" _I'm going to be running a fever tomorrow morning," she said, knowing Priscilla would catch her drift._

"O _h gosh," Sissy breathed, breezing passed Gertrude. "I hope it won't be too serious."_

 _Gertrude fought a groan and took off in the opposite direction, skillfully balancing the meal she hid in her sleeves._

 _oooooooooooooooo_

 _After being left alone in the room, Phil found himself at a sort of loss. For what was probably a good half hour, he sat on the edge of her tidy bed, still in his wet clothes and contemplated. It was finally hitting him all at once, the realization growing stronger and stronger, as if it was a ink seeping across a page: China, Shanghai, a nunery, and Gertrude, after all this time. She had stopped communicating ages ago. He hadn't been able to write to her about the CHAM special assignment, but he figured he would have come across some letters when he finally returned, but none came. He hadn't realized it was because she was dedicated her life to her Faith._

 _His hand removed his hat and its twin pushed through his awkwarly shorn locks. He had been lettering his hair grow from its previous length and it was a sweaty mess benath his cap. His hand roved down his own head and wringed down the back and side of his neck, rubbing back and forth nervously. Helplessly his brain attempted to take it all in._

 _He let out a huff of air, realizing, 'Welp, nothing to do now, but wait, I guess.' Determined to relax a little, he let his hand go behind him to arrange himself a little more comfortably on the bed. It was in this way that it came into contact with the thick fabric of the haori. It seemd to break the spell Phil was under, and he looked around him, realizing it had grown very dark in the room._

 _He vaguely recalled Gertruded mentioning the matches were in the desk. He approached it, squinting in the failing light of the stormy day. He opened the hinged writing surface of the small secretaries desk and was presented with a number of drawers and a small bookcase area. The hollow that served as the bookcase was tuffed with a number of books, including one of hymns and-of course-the Holy Bible. No matches in there. A few of the drawers he found to be empty, though most were in use, organized with their own categories._

 _One of the drawers was full of writing paraphernalia including plain stationary, stamps, envelopes, and ink pens. The next drawer held a pile of papers, these ones written on, including what felt like greeting cards. Another seemed to be a catch-all drawer, though it was hard to tell in the failing light. Phil dug his hand through it, he pulled things he could identify by touch: the glossy, thick paper of a photograph, with a creases running through the middle both vertically and longitudinally, most likely from repetitive folding. He pulled out apile of thick paper, most likely envelopes tied with some sort of twine, a lady's wallet, some change, all thrown onto the desk._

 _Finally, he felt the unmistable square that was a book of matches._

 _He didn't even fumble with them in the dark, having lit his fair chare of cigarettes during the war. Thankfully, he had cut the habit._

 _The smell of sulfure dioxide flooded his nostrils as the small flame created a halo of warm, yellow light in the room. As he transferred the fire to the wicks of both the lamp and the candles, the world finally came back into view._

 _With light to see by, Phil immediately divested himself of his wet, sweaty clothes and donned the pants and robe-like top Gertrude had given him. They were way more voluminous than he was used to, but they were definitely comfortable._

 _The long hem of the haori wafted behind him as he made his way back to the desk and began replacing items back to their places._

 _A few things he remembered by touch were now identified visually in the light of the flickering flame. The photograph he had felt was of her, her mother, and Mr. Madison. It looked like a holiday picture, with the family settled in front of hearth, where boughs of holly were peeking out on the edges of the mantle. He smiled looking at the photo; they looked very happy. The photo itself had been folded over the same spot multiple times, creating wrinkles that turned white from the sloughing of ink from the paper._

 _Some crinkled pages, newer than the photo, but still aged slightly, looked like directions, messages, and some small scribbles. There were some that documented Gertrude's interest in gun fu, as well as correspondence between herself, her teacher, and important dates with locations._

 _The small bundle that felt like a stack of letters was exactly that: a stack of letters. The one of top, he noticed-though he initially thought he was mistaken-was addressed to him._

 _They were_ all _addre_ _ssed to him..._

 _...and they were all marked returned to sender._

 _There had to be six or seven months worth of letters here, judging by the postal dates stamped. He contemplated not opening them, for the sake of Gertrude's privacy, but then he thought, 'Her privacy? They're addressed to me.'_

 _After a brief inward debate, he dug his knife out of his pants pocket and used it to open the first letter, the one dated back the furthest, about a year ago, sixth months after the Battle of the Bugle._

 _oooooooooooooooo_

 _And this is how Gertrude found him when she swung open the door to her room. Phil standing near her desk, kimono hanging open, exposing a rectangular strip of torso, chest hair, and collarbone, and with four or five pieces of paper in his hand, previously trifolded, now open. The flames bobbed at the change in air pressure as the door opened and quickly closed behind her. Gertie wasn't sure if it was that or the noise of the door opening that broke Phil's concentrations from pursuing the words on the papers._

 _She tried to steady her thoughts as his eyes found hers in a much different way than they ever had before. His gaze felt...profound and weighted, and it scared her for a moment. Startled slightly, she lowered her gaze when it felt grew too intense for her and stalked awkwardly across the room to put the food container she snuck out of the dining area onto the desk._

 _As Gertrude continued to avoid Phil's gaze, not sure what was going on with him and too flustered from her encounter in the hallway to try and riddle it out. When his hand shot out and gasped her elbow, she inhaled sharply and turned to him. Phil held the pages up, and Gertrude instantly recognized her own slanted script. Her eyes darted about her desk, noticing it was disarranged, and went to the floor, where parts small flecks of paper from Phil opening the letters dusted the stone work. The twine that once held them in a bundle was discarded as well. Gertrude instantly became furious._

 _"You went through my desk?" she accused, yanking her arm from his grasp. "What the hell is wrong with you? I let you in here, risking myself and what I have worked for, and you have the gall to invade my privacy?!"_

 _Phil kept his cool, but only slightly, not liking her accusations one bit. "Hey, now. You told me that the matches were in your desk. You didn't tell me your desk had eight drawers full of stuff I had to look through."_

 _"No," Gertrude corrected through one prolonged syllable. "I told you the matches were_ on _my desk."_

 _"No, you didn't," Phillip argued. "You said in, I definitely remember you saying in!"_

 _Gertrude let out a sound of frustration before-without looking-she slapped her hand on the top of the her desk, scant inches away from the base of the lamp and produced a book of matches, a different book of matches than the one Phil had found in her desk, now shoved annoyingly close to his face._

 _Phil batter her wrist away. "Okay, okay! I thought you said in, it was dark in here, so I didn't see them on the top of the desk."_

 _Gertrude huffed,"Fine." Phil waited for her to continue talking, but she was sulking and trying to burn the hair off his chest with her glare._

 _Softly, he said, "The letter...Gertrude, what happened?"_

 _"What happened? Phil I don't know." Gertrude looked helpless, shrugging and letting her arms swing into her sides. "I would ask_ you _that. I wrote you same as always a year and a half ago. Months I didn't get an answer, then eventually, my letters...they came back."_

 _Gertrude's voice became thick with emotion, betraying her anger._ " _I thought you might have_ died _Phil."_

 _"Gertrude," Phil breathed._

 _"I knew they wouldn't tell me first, they would tell your next of kin: your sister. I wrote Mitzy a letter, and she told me...you were fine._

 _And then_ months _go by, still no word. No letters from you at my home address in the states, none here, nothing going through, all coming back. Then I saw your chin in the papers, snuggled up with stinking Hedy Lamarr. Yeah, doesn't take a genius to see apparently I was no longer a desired part in your life."_

 _Phil let her finish, having read similar in her letters and able to glean her emotions: the worry, the disappointment, and finally the utter disappointment in the words she wrote him and weighing down her posture now._

 _"Gertie I-" he wa stuck. How did he fix this? He didn't know if the truth-the only thing he was willing to tell her-would be believable or acceptable to her, if it would repair nearly a year and a half of betrayal in her eyes. "I was on a secret mission."_

 _Gertrude laughed, and threw her head back, her eyes searching the ceiling for patience. When she quieted, she eyed him skeptically. "Really?"_

 _"Yeah, honest!" He took her gently by the shoulders, prepared for her to strike him, but she kept her hands at her sides, though she was so rigid she felt like he could snap her in two. "Gertrude, you said yourself you saw me in the papers, didn't you read the article?"_

 _"No," she admitted with a grumble. "I sort of threw it in the fountain." Phil let out a sigh that also turned into a small_ _chuckle, and he felt Gertrude's shoulders give slightly._

 _"Say, if you'll let me, I'll tell you all about it. How does that sound?" Gertrude took a deep breath and felt all of her anger dissipate as her lungs deflated. Always thinking the worst. She had even called her mother about this, who thankfully had enough grace not to say "I told you so." Maybe her mother didn't even think that way anymore after years of happy marriage with her stepfather, but Gertrude had started to grow a little skeptical herself with Phil out of her life._

 _Gertrude gently brushed his hand away and fingered her coif, seemingly debating taking it off, and at the same time, the motion reminded Phil of what she was now and the new rules that dictated their relationship._

 _She was preparing to take oaths of a monastic life, including one of celibacy. She would never marry. She would never marry_ him _. Well that just wasn't an option for Phil. He loved her too much, and would have to convince her to come with him, that is, once he knew for certain that this wasn't what she truly wanted. He already had his_ _suspicions. He had never once her her have strong conviction toward faith, at least not so much as to dedicate her whole life as a nun. Sure, he remembered Gertrude had a knack and love of teaching, and she could dedicate her life to do just that through the Church._

 _Phil wasn't intending to be vain, but he couldn't help but think that this vast shift in her life plans and personality had something to do with him being gone._

 _Well, he was here now. What's more, he would remain by her side for as long as she would allow him, if she wanted him there at all._

 _Gertrude gently removed her coif once she found a decent finger hold, and went to place it gently in the closet with her other clothes._

 _She spoke softly, remembering she was trying to be discrete with him here and also to show him something other than anger. They hadn't seen each other since he left-five years now-and this is not how she picture their reunion._

 _No._

 _In the frozen tundra of the arctic, with the wind howling overhead, Gertrude had dreamt of how warm it would be in his embrace._

 _On the dusty trails in the Midwest, with the sun beating down on her neck, she imagined a reunion during Christmas, with the snow drifting gently to the ground and mistletoe hanging overhead, the smell of cinnamon and a roaring fire taking them into a comforting embrace._

 _In the jungles of the Amazon, where she was somehow still sticky and sweaty even though the rain was pouring overhead and bugs incessantly buzzed around her ears as she took shelter, she imagined running to Phil in the street to embrace him, despite the frigid pouring rain and ignoring the reactions of the onlookers buzzing in their ears as they reunited._

 _And on the boat to the Orient, as she willed sea sickness away, keeping he green just below her gills, she imagined a spring day with a gentle breeze that would pull at her hair so he would approach her slowly after seeing her for the first time, reach out, and tuck the stand behind her ear._

 _All of her imaginings, per usual, had been fantastical, down to every little detail._

 _But what she got was a collision in the dirty back streets of Shanghai as she was sneaking back from a dojo, smelling of her sweat and of other people's sweat, sending him careening into a filthy cuddle. Then, she accused him of breaching her privacy after hoarding him in her closet then in her room for almost an hour by himself with nothing to wear but old clothes other people left behind. At least she was able to offer him a meal It was nothing as grand as the holiday dinner she had prepared in her mind while she drove cattle, nothing like the sweet cookies and hot chocolate they partook in under a warm blanket after they kissed in the wintry rain while she was in the jungle, and nothing like the lemonade and picnic they enjoyed on their spring day. But it was a hot meal at least._

 _"That'd actually be swell, Phil. I think you'd better get some food in you so you don't catch a cold, and then we can discuss the plan for the rest of the night and tomorrow."_

 _"I thought we already had a plan?" he asked, but to show his compliance with her proposition, he obediently began to eat the rice, pork, and broccoli arranged in his bowl._

 _"Uh," Getrude uttered dumbly, not quite knowing where to start and also keenly aware_ _that he was watching her as she laid out her night clothes to wear to bed. She drew a tiny circle with her finger vertically, and Phil obliged by turning away so he could change. "We had a skeleton of a plan. In reality, I need to go over a few things I figured out over dinner."_

 _"Ok, shoot," Phil said before cramming another bite into his mouth. He was starved. All day walking through the city with nothing to eat._

 _"Well I kinda..." Gertrude trailed off. Phil continued to chew and wait expectantly. "I recruited some help. We're gonna need it. One of the other postulants is going to make it so no one comes in here tomorrow. I'm going to be playing sick."_

 _"Sounds like a plan."_

 _"Yeah," Gertrude nodded. She sat on the foot of her bed and told him he could turn around._

 _"We will be able to sneak you into a bathroom to clean up at some point tonight if you want, or we can doit tomorrow morning. Sorry it couldn't be sooner, but she is in the process of hunting down some more blankets so you will be more comfortable."_

 _"Oh, that's not a big deal."_

 _"She's already doing it." Gertrude tried to sound playful, but she was sure she just came off as annoyed. As if on cue, there was a patterned knock at the door. Phil froze, clutching the bowl and utensil, unsure of what to do. Gertrude, however, was cool as a cucumber as she rose to answer it._

 _"You're fine. I know who it is. That's a code knock."_

 _From the other side of the room, Phil quipped, "Nuns have_ _code knocks?"_

 _Gertrude either didn't hear him or was deciding to ignore him. When she opened the door, another woman slipped into the room. She was also in a voluminous nightgown similar to Gertie's, but she wore a robe over the top of it._

 _"Did you find the blankets?" Gertrude asked her, but the other girl, dark in hair and in eyes, made sure to let her gaze search the room for Phil before she bothered to answer Gertie, though it took less than a second._

 _"I found better than that," she confirmed giving Gertrude a cot she had found. Her gaze traveled up and down on Phil in one slow movement. Phil baulked at what he supposed was a suggestive statement, but then, he couldn't be sure. This girl was a nun for goodness sake, she probably didn't even realize._

 _A slow smile spread on her face, and she spoke to Gertrude while still regarding him._

 _"So this is your flu, huh? I gotta say, I don't feel bad that you're being held up in bed with this fever." Gertrude sighed._

 _"Phillip-Priscilla, Priscilla-Phillip," Gertrude deadpanned_ _beside her._

 _Priscilla held out her hand and smiled, "Nice to finally meet you, Phil."_

 _Phil was unsure if she meant to shake hands or if he was supposed to kiss her knuckles. He looked passed Priscilla to Gertrude, who shrugged. He landed on "grasp fingers lightly and politely."_

 _"Likewise."_

 _"Was able to find the cot in storage, that'll be more comfortable than the floor."_

 _"Oh, well thank you. I learned to sleep wherever and whenever I could during the war, so I can sleep anywhere. I appreciate you helping us out, though."_

 _Sissy smiled, though it looked like there was an inside joke on the corner of her lips. "Anything for Gertrude. Well, I better turn in and let you kids get to sleep as well. You've got a big day of pretending to be sick tomorrow."_

 _Gertrude put her hands on Sissy's shoulder blades to push her toward the door. "Yeah, yeah, thank you again, Priscilla."_

 _Phil piped up, unsure of what he missed between the two of them. "Yeah! Thank you, Priscilla."_

 _Sissy, who had relented and moved toward the door, turned to him before opening the door, "Call me Sissy."_

 _A few minutes later, the cot was set up, the candles were blown out and the only thing left lighting the room was the oil lamp. Gertrude had found one extra heavy blanket in the closet, and was grateful her friend had found them a cot, or else poor Phil would have only the blanket and the floor._

 _"Am I good to turn out the light?" she asked as Phil settled under his covers. He answered in the affirmative and from her spot on her bed, she leaned over and turned off the lamp._

 _It was quiet for a minute, both of them exhausted and letting themselves sink into their sleeping places. Before she nodded off, Gertrude's voice floated through the darkness._

 _"I'm really happy you're safe...and...I'm really glad you're here, Phil."_

 _Phil turned to her in the darkness, though he couldn't see her. He smiled in her direction, "I am, too, Gertrude."_


	13. He touched me AND I'M NOT A MONKEY!

_"Sick." Mother Superior stood before the door to Gertrude's room. Her tone betrayed the disbelief that was also apparent in her deadpan features. Between her and the door was one of her most mischievous postulants, Sister Stampfl, who she could trust as far as she could throw despite her apparent dedication to the church. There was something about her, the way her eyes sparkled and the ease of her smile, that weren't altogether innocent._

 _"Oh, yes." Priscilla let her crystal blue eyes widen and somehow managed to make them glisten with a show of concern. She took on the very likeness of a puppy, but much of the charm was lost on the older woman. "Sister Madison is burning with fever, her nose is stuffed, and her voice is hoarse."_

 _Pity chipped away at the stern Mother, and she muttered a sympathetic, "Oh." She stepped forward._

 _"Well then, please step aside so I may tend to her illness."_

 _Priscilla quickly intercepted her again, urging, "No! She is actually quite contagious. I have already been exposed, so I can nurse her back to health again. Wouldn't want it to spread more."_

 _Mother Superior eyed Sissy, her expression balanced between concern and skepticism. Finally she relented. "Very well. I know how much you care for her, so it is fitting. I will inform the school of your absence from the classes today. I'm sure we can find a fitting substitute."_

 _Priscilla responded to the comment with a strained smile, unsure if what she had said was meant to be comforting or a back-handed compliment. She knew she wasn't the favorite of the senior Sisters, but, damn it, she and Gertrude were good at teaching. And they also worked hard at the hospital when times called for it. It wasn't easy work._

 _"Thank you mother superior," Priscilla demurred, knowing that any sort of gushing or overt sweetness on her part would likely result in scorn._

 _On the other side of the door, Phil hid in the already small closet with the new addition of the cot while Gertrude laid in her bed, smothered by blankets. With the heat from the sun baking the plaster of the convent and the extra blankets, she didn't even have to fake the feverish sweat she had developed on her brow. She also had placed a washcloth on her head, which helped with the damn and disheveled look of her hair. The door opened, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to look as tired as she felt._

 _Gertrude had woken periodically almost the entire night, as if her reality based mind didn't believe the dream-like coincidence of Phillip barreling into her life. At one point, she had lit a candle to confirm he was real, not caring if she woke him. He had not stirred and had gone on sleeping with a small buzzing snore._

 _Gertrude didn't know how long she had gazed at Phil while contemplating everything happening around her, but however long it was, it was enough time for her to come to the conclusion that she was not meant to stay here without him. They belonged together now as much as they ever had._

 _However, the inconclusive status of their relationship had her uneasy. She had been gone so long thinking he had abandoned what they had; it made it hard to move on. The happiness of their reunion was quickly shrinking her insecurities to just a tiny voice in the corner of her brain. And honestly, Gertrude was grateful for such insecurities. Call her crazy, but they made her feel grounded and real. Without them, she might had just floated off and away into the clouds when he looked at her the way he had the night before. He had missed her, that she knew for certain, but she needed to know more about how he felt before she derailed her life and all the good she was doing in the Orient._

 _Through the opening door, where Gertrude expected an insistent Mother Superior, a victorious Priscilla stood smiling._

 _Gertrude muttered, "Thank God." She flung off the covers and clawed a hand through her hair, attempting to tame it. She sighed in relief as Priscilla walked over and opened the closet door where Phil was doing his best impression of an overcoat._

 _"Come on out, Romeo. You're in the clear," Sissy smirked. Off balance, Phil stumbled out of the closet, trying his best not to get tangled up in anything lest he end up smack on his face._

 _"So..." Gertrude's voice came out muffled as she struggled to her nightgown over her head and her arms out of the sleeves. With the extra layers of her street clothes underneath, it quickly turned into a struggle._

 _Phil smiled gently and moved her help her, pulling the sleeves farther above her head than she could reach alone. With her arms free, Gertie grasped the remaining cloth surrounding her face and freed her head from the gown._

 _"Bwa!" she gasped, making Phil's smile widen. Her eyes met his and she smiled, sighing a big 'thank you.'_

 _Priscilla watched them in their own little world and shook her head. They wouldn't be staying here, not when they looked at each other like that. Well, she would help her friend achieve her happiness no matter what._

 _"Okay. Phil, you have the number for, Mr. Wise, was it?"_

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Great. We do this like we planned earlier: we head to Mother Superior's office, I get us in and you get on the phone, Sissy watches from the door."_

 _"Wait, I'm still wondering if that'll look suspicious. Isn't she supposed to be in here taking care of you? Why would she be outside of the head nun's office?" Phil asked._

 _"We're just gonna say that I had a question for her and was waiting outside of her office," Sissy explained breezily._

 _"We know her schedule, so we know she won't be back for a few hours, and mostly no one comes around there anyway unless they have scheduled business with her, otherwise she counsels people in the chapel's office, where Father Ludner has his."_

 _"Alright, looks like you girls thought of everything."_

 _They moved swiftly through the empty halls, not expecting to run into anyone, but knew that they couldn't be to careful. Once they had run out of the sleeping quarters, they could breath easier, knowing there wouldn't be as much foot traffic toward the back end of the convent._

 _Both Phil and Gertrude watched corners as Sissy used one of her hairpins to open the look of the door._

 _"Psst," she hissed and waved them over. Gertrude motioned for Phil to enter first so she could follow swiftly behind._

 _"Phone is on the desk on the far wall next to the window. Be quick about it," she instructed as she turned the lock behind her._

 _She heard the rhythmic turning of the rotary dial behind her and turned to see Phil standing with his back to her, shoulders slightly hunched as he bent forward to look inspect the numbers. As he straightened, she didn't hesitate in observing his form outlined by the bright daylight outside. She noted he may have grown while he was away. Not that he was taller. He was different. His form still slender, but less spindly, more filled out that before. His shoulders and back seemed broader, and he seemed so confident._

 _"Yes, hello, can I have the number for the Hotel Mr. Wise is staying at please?" He took note with the pen and pad sitting next to the phone, ripping off the top sheet when he finished in order to not leave evidence of them being there._

 _He hung up the phone with a brief goodbye and Gertrude stage whispered from across the room. "Still all clear."_

 _"One more call," Phil said with a nod while Gertrude kept her ear to the door._

 _She heard soft footfalls in the hall. She leaned her body and pressed the shell of her ear flush against the door, straining to hear. She expected people to walk passed from time to time, but these footsteps weren't just passing, they were growing louder._

 _Oh. no._

 _"Phil!" she rasped, spinning on her heel. "Get under the desk!"_

 _"Wha-?" he replied. Gertrude ran from the door as a key fit into the lock. She tore the phone from his hands and soundlessly put it back on the ringer. He didn't know how she did it, but she somehow, without his conscious effort, folded his body and stored him under the desk. Then she was gone._

 _A metal key fitted into the lock with a dull shink._

 _Phil held his breath, hearing the door close. The room was deathly quiet, all of the noise sucked into a deafening silence. He dared not lean out from underneath the desk._

 _If he had, he would have seen Gertrude nimbly jump high and noiselessly kick off one wall, then across to the other until she was up to the ceiling where she wedged herself hovering above the doorway before the door finished opening. She froze as the door swung open. It squeaked as the momentum slowed, and the dark fabric of a habit came into her line of site. It swiveled slowly, as though Mother Superior was surveying the room slowly. Gertrude squeezed her eyes shut and tried to press her finger tips, palms, and the balls of her more firmly into the wall, silently praying they would go unnoticed. There was a pondering hum from the room's newest occupant._

 _"My, it sure is quiet in here," a voice drawled._

 _Wait. She knew that voice._

 _Gertrude's eyes popped open to see a smirking Priscilla below her, her eyes dancing with mischief. Her expression shifted to one of mock admonishment as she haughtily exclaimed, "Why, Sister Gertrude. What in Heaven's good name are you doing up there?"_

 _"Priscilla!" Gertrude exclaimed in a relieved laugh. All she received a wily smile._

 _The two women heard a thump from the desk, head to wood, the result of Phil shooting upward in surprise. His head popped up from the other side of the oak desk in time to watch Gertrude gracefully swing down and land beside her friend. The two girls exchanged words he couldn't hear and shared a giggle._

 _"Gees, Priscilla, you scared the life outta us!" he sighed, bringing a hand to the back of his head. Sissy let out a very attractive, low giggle, and swung a heavy key on a thick cord around her slender finger._

 _"I'm on an errand. I ran into our dear Mother in the hallway. She was in a hurry and asked me to retrieve a few papers for her. Nifty, eh?"_

 _Gertrude smile, pleased. "Extremely."_

 _"You two manage to get ahold of your agent or whatever he is?" Sissy asked._

 _Phil shook his head. "Not yet, I have the number for where he is at, though."_

 _With a quick flick of her wrist, the loop of leather twirled around her finger and into her awaiting palm. "You two better hurry. You're lucky it was me who came in."_

 _"Yeah, we know. We were just about to call Mr. Wise and get the heck out of here," Gertrude returned, motioning for Phil to do so. He immediately took the receiver off the hook and dialed the number he had been given. "Thanks for covering for us!"_

 _"You're welcome," Sissy said. She moved a little closer, her voice low, almost a whisper. "So...how's it going?"_

 _Gertrude appeared puzzled. "What do you mean? We just told you..."_

 _All she received was a heavily skeptical look from her fellow postulant. Sissy sighed, moving passed her, grabbing a small folder from the desk. "Oh boy."_

 _Phil looked around the small cafe where they were waiting for Mr. Wise. It was a curious cocktail oriental food and some American classics. They had a bowl of American candy on the counter for goodness sake. He had ordered fried rice with SPAM, and sat back looking around._

 _The air was hot and stagnant, smelled of cooking oil and strong herbal tea. He was sweating again in his borrowed clothes. How the hell could it be so hot here? And Gertrude was sitting there, looking perfectly relaxed, not even hinting at being a little hot. 'She must be used to it,' he thought to himself with some amount of jealousy._

 _He sighed irritably. Gertrude, who was sipping on green tea, let her eyes slide over to his. He met her eye, and she smiled at him, finding his grumpy demeanor endearing. It was adorable._

 _"What's gotten your panties in a twist?" she asked around her cup. Even Gertrudes sparkling eyes beneath her lashes didn't lift Phil's spirits. He was cranky by the most conservative of estimates. Mr. Wise not only put him on a plane and a random boat of an "associate", he didn't meet him at the docks, booked him at a back alley hotel, and drew him a map on a napkin that he left with his "boat associate", all in a foreign country where Phil had never visited and didn't speak a lick of the language. Instead of ranting about all that, he simply said,"He's late."_

 _Gertrude didn't say much, just took her hand and gently pushed his cup of cooling tea toward him. "Drink. Relax. It is out of our hands now," she said calmly._

 _Phil sighed and picked up his cup, looking into the green liquid with some hesitation. He eyed Gertrude out of the corner of his eye briefly and grumbled, "When did you become so zen and shit?" Gertrude gave him a disapproving look at his use of language, but he pointedly ignored her._

 _"Doing the Lord's work in Asia has allowed me the privilege to be involved with my own hobbies."_

 _"Are these hobbies the convent is okay with?" Phil asked with a smirk at the corner of his mouth and quirk of his eyebrow, already knowing the answer._

 _Gertrude turned to him and had her mouth open ready to answer with her own smart remark when a voice called out to them._

 _"Stee-ly Phil!" A boisterous, obviously American man puffed into their sightline. He was sweating...everywhere. His beige shirt was soaked and his mustard colored tie was pulled away from his throat, all had some discoloration where it met his skin. He was breathing heavily, as if he had been running._

 _"We-ell, look who finally made an appearance." Phil crossed his arms over his chest and cutting zero slack. Mr. Wise didn't seem to take much notice, motion with a raised then waggling finger, motioning a worker over._

 _"Yeah sorry about that," he said distractedly, then louder—if possible—he drawled out to the waiter, "BE—ER AND WA-TE-R."_

 _When the server failed to move along with the order, instead looking between the faces of the three Americans seated at the table, Mr. Wise grumbled, "Oh, Jesus Christ. What's with these China-men? BEER AND WATER!"_

 _Gertrude held out a calming hand, palm down, signaling for Mr. Wise to quiet. He gave her an irritated look, but complied. She swiftly gave his order in Mandarin, and the server bowed, making his way off. Knowing she was receiving a look that consisted of a mix of inquiry and strong irritation, Gertrude leveled a flat look in the direction of Mr. Wise. "They don't all speak English. Yelling it at them isn't going to make them understand any better."_

 _Mr. Wise crossed hims arms and grunted out an amused laugh. "Well this is supposed to be an American cafe, ain't it? And anyway, who're you? Another booster?"_

 _Phil took this time to intervene, "This is Gertrude Madison, a friend of mine from back home."_

 _Gertrude, however, didn't miss Mr. Wise's question, nor did she acknowledge the introduction made on her behalf. "Booster?"_

 _Mr. Wise sat back in a satisfied manner as the waiter returned, placing the two sweating bottles of Budweiser in front of him. He took a crumpled, sweat stained handkerchief out of his inner jacket pocket and wiped his forehead._

 _"Yeah, Steely Phil's got 'em all over the place. Fans, that is. Hell, Hedy Lamar gave him an autographed photo, didn't she, Steely?"_

 _Phil watched as Gertrude bristled and tried to change the subject quickly._

 _"Well, she gave a few to everyone there," he hedged, which was the truth. He did omit the fact that his had the written invitation to call her._

 _Mr. Wise grunted in acknowledgement, "Kid's a lady's magnet. Ugh, this water is luke warm!"_

 _"It's tap," Gertrude stated impatiently, hoping they would turn the conversation away from Phil's supposed prowess with other women. Mr. Wise eyeballed their tea cups._

 _"Don't know how you can stand drinking that hot leaf juice, and during the middle of a hot summer day, no less."_

 _Phil informed him it didn't really make them uncomfortable in regards to temperature and that is was good for you. Mr. Wise returned with, "Yeah, well, I'm a coffee man, myself."_

 _'...which is hot beanjuice,' Gertrude commented to herself sourly._

 _Mr. Wise jerked his head in Gertrude's direction while looking at Phil. "She who you been shackin' up with?"_

 _Gertrude flushed, though she tried her hardest to remain as the frog in the pond, calm, cool, and collected. He made it sound so crude._

 _"Yes, she was kind enough to give me the extra bed at her place," he said pointedly, not wanting Mr. Wise to make any inferences into Gertrude's virtues. He didn't mention that her place was a convent, and that he was snuck in under the noses of nearly everyone there._

 _"You've taken up residence here, Miss Madison?"_

 _Gertrude did not want to engage in small talk with this man, so she gave him a quick affirmative before excusing herself for the restroom._

 _Once she was gone from the table, Mr. Wise caught Phil in an appraising gaze._

 _"What?" Phil snapped, not liking the feeling of being under this man's microscope._

 _"What's with this girl? You sweet on her? Cute, but short. You need a girl with nice, long legs you can look at, you know?"_

 _"Actually, Mr. Wise, she's the girl I asked to wait for me." Mr. Wise's eyebrows raised into his glistening forehead. He took a swig of his beer before replying._

 _"I thought she stopped writing back to you."_

 _They paused in conversation as the Phil's meal was placed in front of him. Mr. Wise was pleased that the server also brought him a menu with pictures and smiled at him, bowing his head and part of his torso. He pointed to a picture of a hot dog and chili friend. A nod from the server and they were alone again._

 _"I just found out last night that all of her letters were sent back to her, return to sender. She's gotta whole stack of 'em in her desk."_

 _"Well, now that's too bad. Shouldn't happen, but sometimes it does. Really takes a toll on the soldier, sailor, whatever, and the families. But, you know, sometimes it's a miracle who they can get letters to. Not a perfect system."_

 _Phil grunted his agreement. Mr. Wise continued._

 _"And what about your letters to her?"_

 _Phil scratched the back of his head and furrowed his brow. "Well, to tell ya the truth, I stopped writing after I didn't get a few back. Which I guess is all well anyhow cause I would've never thought to send them to China of all places."_

 _"Yeah, interesting how you both ended up here. What do they call that?" he asked distracted by the plate of food set down in front of him. "Serendipitous or something like that?"_

 _Gertrude had walked up behind him in time to hear this. She smiled as she sat down, agreeing in her head with him. Uncouth as he was—she attributed part of that to the weather—she had to admit he had a point._

 _Mr. Wise flung his tie over his shoulder before he bent forward to take a bite of hotdog and then leaned back, chewing thoughtfully. After another swig of beer—which he was favoring for both it's cold temperature and flavor—he eyed the two._

 _"Sorry you missed the function today, but I'm sure I could arrange another if you'd like. I wouldn't want you to have come all the way to China for nothing, though it seems this trip hasn't been a total wash for you, since you two became reunited and all."_

 _Phil smiled and turned to Gertrude, who had done the same. His expression softened when he looked at her, unmissed by Mr. Wise, who cleared his throat._  
 _"And you know, we could get you out of here whenever you want…you and any companion you might wanna bring along home."_

 _Both sets of eyes across the table widened and shot to him, and he gave a self-satisfied smile._

 _"How 'bout it kids. Wanna pick up where you left off?"_

 _Gertrude and Phil walked along the streets of Shanghai, the sounds of their sandals scuffing the street the only thing between them._

 _"I hope," Phil started abruptly, a little too loudly, "I hope that was okay, me having him get you a ticket to come back to Hillwood."_

 _She was quiet, but smiling. "Yeah," she said softly._

 _"Are you sure?" he asked doubtfully. Her response seemed okay, but it was one word. Had he done something wrong. "It's okay if you aren't or if you don't want to go. He said it was an open ticket," he added._

 _"No, Phil! I mean, yes! Of course it's okay! I'd love to go back home. I've been gone so long, it'd be nice to go back with you."_

 _Phil's face split into a huge goofy grin that he just couldn't help. It would be nice to go back together, even if they were just friends. If they still jived, maybe they could be something more. But for now, he was just going to focus on the trip home. He still hadn't been back to the boarding house, he realized._

 _"Alright, sounds great." He replied. Looking ahead of him, he pointed, "Hey, what's going on out in front of the chapel?"_

 _Gertrude's small high came to an abrupt end. "In front of the chapel?" she asked._

 _"Yeah, look, there's a huge group of nuns. Isn't that Priscilla?"_

 _Gertrude's stomach dropped. Indeed, that was Priscilla, and standing next to her, eyes directly on them, was Mother Superior._

 _Well, she was going to have to face the music at some point anyway, though she would have greatly preferred not having Mother Superior find out that she had been hiding a man in her quarters for the last day and a half._

 _As they approached, she motioned for Phil to stay somewhat behind her, that way she could face the older woman on her own. Phil stayed behind her at her flank, close enough to lend support for her emotionally, but attempting to be as respectful as he could given the circumstances._

 _Gertrude stood before Mother Superior, who stood with arms cross in silence, a mix of emotions displayed on her face, the most prominent being naked disappointment. Gertie's eyes found the ground. She was silent with her lips pressed together in a thin line, unsure of what she could possible say to make the situation okay._

 _Mother Superior's voice broke the silence. "I just don't understand."_

 _Gertrude's eyes rose and she felt the pricking pain of tears, but couldn't find an explanation within herself. Mother Superior continued, "Did you really think I would turn away someone, a friend, in need?"_

 _Gertrude felt shame burn at her face. Of course Mother Superior would have allowed him to stay, at least in the monastery, but she would have had to explain how she had ran into him._

 _"I didn't think, Mother Superior. I was afraid to tell you."_  
 _Mother Superior nodded, seemingly understanding. "I could understand that. We haven't had the most open relationship."_

 _Phil froze in the older woman's gaze as she looked passed her postulant toward him. She gave him a calm appraisal, and he swallowed hard. She didn't give him any indication of any thoughts concerning him. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing, but he didn't have to dwell on it as her attention soon turned to her postulant._

 _"I need to ask you," she began. "Do you intend to take your vows?"_

 _Gertrude knew the answer to this, but didn't know how to say what she was feeling. It all felt so much bigger than herself._

 _"I feel like this is His plan," she said, believing every word. Everything she had ever done seemed to lead to her back to Phillip. Even if they were to be nothing but more than they had always been, she knew she belonged with him._

 _Mother Superior nodded, then again put Phil in her sights. "You intend to care for this woman?"_

 _States as a question, but intended as a command...and a threat. A nonverbal 'or else' hung in the air between them._

 _Phil's voice and gaze were both steady and strong. "I do."_

 _Mother Superior placed her hands gently on Gertrude's shoulders. "May you go with God," she murmured._

 _"Thank you," Gertrude whispered, passing her to retrieve her belongings from her room._

 _Silence stretched for some time, and Phil looked between all the nuns still standing there. Mother Superior looked over her shoulder to where Priscilla stood, and almost comically raised her eyebrow and asked, "Well, aren't you going to be packing too?"_

 _The tall woman was struck dumb for a moment and gaped like a fish. "You are not being pushed out. You two seem an inseparable pair. I think she needs you too, do you agree?"_

 _Priscilla, who had been near tears at the thought of losing her closest friend breathed, "You mean it?"_

 _Mother Superior nodded graciously and motioned for her to move in the same directionas Gertrude._

 _Priscilla paused momentarily, maybe too afraid she was dreaming, before she ran after Gertrude. "Hey! Wait for Sissy!"_

 **Thanks for your patience, guys. I know I was way better last year, updating fairly regularly. This was a beezy of a chapter, I had originally imagined two parts of it, and they definitely changed. I'm good with it though. I hope you guys enjoy!**

 **Also, I ran into a similar style restaurant in the South Pacific. Out on an island in the Pacific Ocean, I found an "American Restaurant." They served burgers, hot dogs, fries, shakes, and other dishes, and had American candy at the cash register. It was very surreal.**


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